


let the dream begin (let your darker side give in)

by AQuill2Thrill



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Drama, Babysitter/Divorced Dad porn, Background GingerRose, Background Phasma/Paige, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben Solo is a Mess, Ben is adorably (infuriatingly?) clueless, Chewie is a flirt, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dd/lg overtones, Discussion of Bullying, Discussion of Doxxing, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, Drunken tweet shenanigans, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Long-Lost Relatives, Masturbation, Nervous Ben Solo, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Peanuts in friendship, Plot, Poor Threepio, Praise Kink, Professor Luke Skywalker, Rey Needs A Hug (Star Wars), Rey is a Kenobi (Star Wars), Rey is tired, Rose is a godsend, Running Away, Senator Leia Organa, Some Degradation, Starring Ben Solo as whiskey_lullaby (AKA bourbon_neat), Sweet Finn (Star Wars), background stormpilot, poe dameron is a goof
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQuill2Thrill/pseuds/AQuill2Thrill
Summary: After recently being reunited with a grandfather she never knew she had, Rey Kenobi finds herself foisted into an easy, comfortable life unlike anything she could've ever hoped for. Now, over four years and most of a college education later, she's struggling to come to terms with a new reality just on the horizon. What will she do when her friends move away after graduation?TL,DR; Twitter might be the best thing that ever happened to her.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 36
Kudos: 38





	1. helpless to resist

**Author's Note:**

> hello again! and if this is your first aquill2thrill fic, welcome! please keep all appendages inside the ride at all times. if you look to your left, you'll see the barest hint of a plot, and over on your right is procrastination mountain—defining features of this realm, LOL.
> 
> but enough chit chat! drop a kudos and a comment if you're so inclined, and i hope you enjoy!
> 
> s/o to kmgonz134 for betaing this chapter!! <3

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep—!_

_Snooze._

“Ugh….”

Friday. _Finally._

Three more weeks until break. 

Two more weeks until finals. 

One more week until Rey officially loses her goddamn mind.

Senior year is just _not_ turning out to be the walk to remember she’d hoped it would be.

A pathetic groan deflates her lungs. She shouldn’t be like this. She should be _grateful._ As the long-lost granddaughter of famed astrophysicist Ben Kenobi, Rey’s been given opportunities hand over fist—not the least of which is a free ride to his alma mater—but it’s like all this newfound privilege robs her of purpose. She feels as though she hasn’t earned a cent of it, her shitty childhood notwithstanding.

That lack of incentive keeps her flat on her back, tangled in her messy sheets. Above her, the ancient vent clangs to life, and she’s rudely blasted with all the cold air that built up since the last time the heat kicked on. Her hands shoot down to grab the quilt she’d shoved off earlier, but when she yanks it up, a blunt object comes with it and whacks her on the forehead.

_“Ow!”_

Shit! What was that—?

Oh. Of course.

Her fucking _vibrator_.

She’s quick to snatch it up from the floor and shove it into the nightstand. All she needs is for Rose to find it and give her shit about going at it until she passed out from exhaustion. Last time that happened she didn’t let up for an entire _week_.

“Rey?” calls a familiar voice from the bathroom. She hadn’t even realized the shower was running. “You up?”

“Yeah,” she replies, kneading at the soreness on her noggin. Rose doesn’t need to know she’s answering from beneath a mountain of bedclothes.

Just then, the bathroom door pops open.

“Are you invisible then? Because I don’t see you!”

Rey rolls her eyes, groaning. “I’m up, I’m _up._ Calm your tits, babe.”

The door clicks shut. Though she can’t be sure, it sounds as if Rose mutters something about the tranquility of her breasts. Water clatters in the plastic stall, drowning out her reply.

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep—!_

_Dismiss._

Rey whines, a melodramatic sound.

At least it’s fucking _Friday._

@:@:@:@:@

Showered, groomed, and dressed, Rey starts to feel a bit more human again. Rose had scurried out the door at 7:56 to make her 8:00 am with Dr. Holdo, but Rey’s glad she has a bit more time before her first class of the day. Functioning without some sort of hot beverage would be an impossible feat today. Dr. Ackbar’s class never fails to drain the life out of her.

One brisk walk later brings her to her favorite morning pit stop. When her gloved hand pushes through the entrance of First Order Coffee Company, she grins as if greeting an old friend. And in a way, she supposes she is; she’s been a model patron almost since she arrived on campus four years ago. Hardly anything has changed, either. A large, glass-front counter offers her a wide array of pastries—everything from quiche to croissant—while a variety of chilled beverages fill the cooler below. She’s nearly got her nose pressed to the glass when a throat clears over her head.

“Oh—sorry, I—it just all looks so good!” Her face burns as she straightens up, feeling for all the world like a scolded child. She can’t help her ogling; hell, she still has dreams about going to bed hungry.

Childhood neglect will do that to a person.

But then her eyes meet those across the counter, and that’s when she realizes.

He’s just fucking with her.

“Hux!” she hisses, her hand aching to punch his shoulder. The man himself is red-faced, barely stifling his laughter. His fiery red hair wafts to and fro with the bobbing of his shoulders.

“S-sorry it was just—the look on your face!” he giggles, adjusting his rolled sleeves. “You looked like a kid in a candy store.”

Rey rolls her eyes, maintaining her charade of annoyance. Truth be told, it’s hard to stay mad at Hux. He’s just too darn _cute_.

“Maybe I’m just extra hungry today!” she harrumphs. Her arms cross as she levels him with an expectant look until finally, he makes a gesture of surrender. The jerk just keeps choking on random giggles as he continues making her usual, movements smooth and practiced from years of work. There’s something beautiful about it, she thinks, the surety with which he reaches and pours, stirs and whirs around the tiny space.

No wonder Rose is so in love with him.

“You’re always hungry, Rey, every day,” Hux teases as he begins pouring the steamed milk into her cup. “Decided what you want today?”

She makes a show of hovering in front of the case, humming as if she didn’t know exactly what she’d be ordering from the moment she woke up this morning.

Fridays call for chocolate croissants.

Hux just shakes his head when he hears her choice, still amused. She critiques his skills with tongs and he tells her to mind her own business, but they’re both laughing by the time they meet back at the register.

“That’ll be $9.42, _miss,”_ he announces, feigning annoyance, so she copies his haughty front as she slides her grandpa’s credit card into the chip reader.

“I swear, the service gets worse and worse every time I come here. Such a shame, really.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hux mutters, shoving her cup and bag towards her with a wink. “Tell Rosie I said hi.”

Rey waggles her eyebrows. “Sure! Anything else?”

_“Rey….”_

“What? One of you needs to make a move already. I’m _tired_ of being the middleman here!”

A hand lifts to rub over his pale face. “I _knowww._ My brain just turns into mush when I see her, and I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid.”

Rey’s getting a good look at the ceiling with how often her eyes are rolling this morning. “Hux, you could literally tell her you think _The Princess Bride_ is the worst movie of all time, and she’d still find a reason to like you.”

His throat bobs with a swallow. “Sure. Just… tell her not to be a stranger. Please.”

 _“Fineeee,_ I will,” she concedes, feeling her heart swell with fondness for the clueless pair. “Don’t say I never did anything for you!”

Just as she turns to go, Hux calls after her.

“Thank you, Rey. I mean that.”

Rey pauses with a hand on the push handle of the door. It’s odd, she thinks. The fact that she’s even here. It shouldn’t be possible, really, and why this moment in particular evokes a desire for introspection, she’s not entirely sure. Perhaps it’s the fact that she just received food without having to beg for it. Maybe it’s the routine of it all, the carefree banter she and Hux toss back and forth, morning after morning. It’s safe. It’s _ordinary._

It’s more than she ever could’ve hoped for.

But Hux is _normal_. Came from a nice, normal family in Vermont—white picket fence and all if his Instagram is anything to go by. He doesn’t need to know how moved she is by his innate kindness.

Instead, she grins, offering a wink.

“Anytime, Armie.”

He returns her smile with a grateful one of his own and waves as she steps back out into the chilly November morning.

She’s able to stave off the tears until she removes the lid of her cup to allow her drink to cool. When she finds the heart he made with the milk, the dam breaks.

For the first time in three months, Rey breaks down and sobs.

@:@:@:@:@

“Damn, you look awful.”

Rey snorts, swiping at the dried tear tracks on her cheeks. “Nice to see you, too, Finn.”

“Fuck—I’m sorry. Are you okay?” he backtracks, producing a handkerchief from his back pocket. Who even carries handkerchiefs anymore? Not that she isn’t thankful for it now; she accepts it gratefully. “Another bad dream?”

She shakes her head, then falters. It’d be a heck of a lot easier just to pin her weepiness on something as believable as a nightmare, but this is _Finn._ He can smell a lie a mile away.

Can he scent trauma, too?

A shiver rocks her spine as she fights to gather her bearings. “No… no, uh, just kind of had a moment this morning. At the coffee shop.”

Finn’s eyebrows shoot skyward. “Oh shit! Does Hux have a crush on you?”

Rey nearly cackles at the thought. Was that _really_ his first thought? “God, no, Finn! He’s still just as head over heels for Rose as he has been since freshman year. And by the way, they’re still being complete dildos about the whole situation—he asked _me_ to tell _Rose_ not to be a stranger, can you believe it? I tried telling him he needs to make a move, but he still won’t listen—”

“Rey. Don’t deflect.”

“I’m not! I just told you Hux definitely does _not_ have a crush on me. Was that not your question?”

“You’re _impossible,”_ he groans, straightening his tie before they step into the lecture hall. As per usual, he’s dressed like he’s ready to address the nation at a moment’s notice, and based on his ambitions, one day he just might. But for now, they still get to be two normal friends acting as two normal friends do. He rolls his eyes, she plucks one of his ridiculous suspenders; he questions the alignment of her buns, she points out food in his teeth that isn’t really there. Even as they take their seats, she nearly forgets she’s in her least favorite class until—

“Good morning everyone,” drones the regal, high-and-mighty voice of Dr. Ackbar. He waddles into the classroom, drops his bag on the desk at the front, and adjusts his 90s era sweater vest as if it’s a velvet robe. “Please procure a sheet of paper and prepare for a short pop quiz.”

No less than twenty people groan, shuffling to do as he’s asked—Finn and Rey included.

“Three more weeks,” Finn mutters under his breath. He slaps a notebook onto his table with a bit too much gusto; Rey has to catch it before it falls. “Thanks. Then we’re out of here.”

“Thank god,” she replies, but she’s not sure she means it. It was a fluke that she and Finn even wound up in the same elective, different as their majors are. And even in this pit of despair, she’s treasured getting to endure it with her best friend at her side.

 _But it’s okay,_ she tells herself, trying to focus on whatever impossible question Dr. Ackbar is asking. _It has to be okay._

Right. Okay. It’s just a class; it’s not like she’ll never see him again—their impending internships notwithstanding.

_It’ll be okay. It’s fine. It will be okay._

Not for the first time in her life, Rey forces herself to ignore the sadness and instead utilize the pain to hone her focus.

Breaking down will have to wait.

@:@: **Ben** :@:@

Ben Solo is a great many things. Grumpiness. Intelligence. _Great_ cook.

One thing he is not, however: _patient_.

_Fuck this stupid, slow as fuck internet, I’m so damn tired of waiting for this shit to upload, 20 minutes of audio should not take 8 hours to post—_

Seething, he jumps up from his office chair and makes a beeline for his tiny kitchen. Why he’s trying to concentrate on an empty stomach is anyone’s guess, but as his mother would say, _You thrive on discomfort, Benjamin; it’s in your blood._

Maybe that’s true, but only to an extent. Existing as a night owl and forgetting to eat aren’t _that_ self-destructing.

Well. Not in comparison to some of his _other_ pastimes.

He replays tonight’s recording in his head. Arguably, it was one of his best performances; several people had requested the subject matter, and luckily, it just so happened to be his favorite dynamic as well. Made it easy to envision, downright intoxicating to desire, and for a few minutes, it made him wonder if he should work harder to overcome his social anxiety.

But oh _god—_ what’s he thinking? How many of his mother’s political galas did he ruin with his long stares and awkward replies? How many times was his aloofness and intensity mocked and ridiculed in grade school and college? No, he’s far better off here in his little bubble of safety. Here, where he can be his weird, hyper-fixated self, doing his weird, hyper-fixated things. Loneliness is a small price to pay for self-possession, and it’s one he’s more than willing to pay.

Well. Until tonight, apparently.

Ben white-knuckles the fridge handle as he yanks it open, still unsure of what he wants. _Peanut butter and jelly would be quick and easy, but I should probably find something more complicated to occupy my mind…._

Next thing he knows, he’s gathering the ingredients for a traditional French cassoulet.

_Here goes nothing…._

@:@:@:@:@

“Hey, Ben, how are y—oh my _god,”_ Phasma gasps, her face alight when he offers her a large container full of the cassoulet. By the time he’d finished it around 4:00 am, he wasn’t super hungry anymore. But he adores his best and only friend, and when he brings her samples of his various late night stress-cooking, her reactions make it worth the effort.

“It’s cassoulet. Has chicken and pork in it, I hope that’s okay.”

He trails behind into her smartly appointed office, flopping into the seat across her desk as she turns to wedge the bowl into her mini fridge.

“Oh yes, that’s just fine! You really saved me with this, Solo; tonight was my turn to cook dinner. Now I just have to come up with a way to convince Paige I made it.” She straightens the collar of her suit jacket before taking her seat, and when their eyes meet, it’s only seconds before they both break out into a fit of poorly-suppressed laughter.

“God, you’re right, they’ll see right through me! Ah, the lover’s curse.”

“Can’t believe I nearly had to convince a _therapist_ not to lie to her partner,” Ben snarks, nibbling on a cuticle to hide his grin. Phasma makes a show of rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head,” she sighs, winking away the sting. “So, what are you up to this week?”

Her receptionist brings in two cups of coffee as Ben racks his brain.

“Well, not much of anything to be honest. Mom’s still nagging me about Thanksgiving and Dad wants me to get there early enough to take the boat out.”

Phasma gives her mug a test sip. “Still haven’t decided if you’re going home then?”

“Not entirely. And I know it’s getting down to the wire, I’m just not sure if I’m in a good enough headspace to see them right now.” Ben takes a drink from his own cup and winces at the taste. He’s getting too used to his French press.

“Understandable. The majority of parents are good at being overwhelming when we’re young, but in your case it’s a bit opposite. Perhaps they think they’re making up for lost time by being so insistent now?”

He nods, staring at a scuff on her desk. It makes sense; their chosen careers didn’t exactly allow for children, but he came along anyway. Most of his childhood was spent tormenting his unfortunate nannies and only seeing his parents during their comings and goings. That they now regret not being there for him all those years is more than a little bewildering.

“I have no idea what we’re doing to be quite frank. Paige’s sister is still at UNC until May, and we aren’t sure if we want to make the trek to Chandrila or visit my mum in Bespin. So you aren’t the only one who’s waiting till last minute,” she says, smiling. “Any plans in the meantime?”

Ben pulls a hand through his hair as he thinks. “Uhhh, well, gardening. Reading, drinking too much coffee, maybe explore the property some more—”

Phasma’s jaw drops. “You mean you’ve lived there for _five years_ and still haven’t seen the whole place?”

“I mean, no? It’s two hundred acres in the middle of nowhere, Phas.” His cheeks warm as they always do when he discusses his wealth. So what if his parents bequeathed him with the entire Skywalker Estate? It’s not like he’d asked them to.

“Yeah, that’s a good point. Still thinking of renovating the mansion?”

It’s a simple question, nothing teasing or morbidly curious about it. Nonetheless, it sets his nerves on edge.

“No.”

“Oh okay. Not thought about it or not renovating—”

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Phas. Can we move on please?”

Taken aback, Phasma clears her throat and glances down at her mug. “Sure, sure. So, uh, what _do_ you do to pass the time?”

Perhaps it’s the reminder of the old mansion; maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Whatever the reason, the next thing out of his mouth is, “Well, I’m uploading a new recording next Saturday—”

He clams up as soon as he realizes he’s said too much, but by then it’s too late. Phasma’s intrigued.

“Oh, a recording? What kind of recording?”

“I—uh, actually, that’s a poor way to describe it—”

“Well then describe it to me, Ben! This is so exciting; I had no idea you had an actual hobby!”

_“Hey—”_

“Sooo let me guess. You play guitar? No! Piano? Wait, could you even _fit_ a piano in that tent you live in?”

“No—I don’t—it’s called a _yurt,_ Phas—”

She’s really beaming now, obviously excited by this new development. “Wait! I should’ve guessed from the start—you’re making cooking videos aren’t you?”

 _“No_. It’s like... ASMR.”

The pale woman stares slack-jawed, her coffee gripped tight in her slender fingers. Ben just sighs, a sound of defeat, and hangs his head. Lovely. Just wonderful. This is all he needed for her to find out.

“Well, well, well. I gotta say, Solo, I didn’t see that one coming. Then again, it _does_ align with your MO. Dark, broody, quiet. What sort of things do you read?”

Read? What’s she talking about? He asks as much.

“You know, like bedtime stories and stuff. Or do you write your own scripts? Come _on,_ I wanna know more!”

What is he doing? _Why_ is he telling her this? Sure she’s a therapist, but she’s not _his_ therapist; she’s his closest friend. What will she think of him if he tells her the truth? Will she ever speak to him again?

Ben sucks down a lungful of air and tries not to jog his knee.

“Promise you won’t judge me,” he says quietly, looking up from leaning on his knees. To his relief, Phas returns his serious look with one of her own.

“It’s literally my job not to judge people. And you know I could never judge you, Ben.”

He just nods and stares at her pencil cup for a few beats until, “...porn,” he mumbles.

“Come again?”

 _“Porn,”_ he hisses a little louder. ”I record audio erotica, Phas. You happy now?”

To her credit, Phasma doesn’t laugh or gag or call him a creep. Instead, she smiles, nodding as if this is a truly great thing for him. “That’s cool, Ben. Honestly; and I’m glad you’ve found a creative outlet that brings you joy.”

Well. That was unexpected. It suddenly feels like a weight’s been lifted off his chest, and Ben releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Thanks, Phas. Seriously. It’s been so difficult to keep that under wraps.”

“Under wraps?” she asks, genuinely curious. “What do you mean by that?”

Ben runs a hand over his face, begging for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “I _mean…_ There are now two people who know I do this, and they’re both in this room. The whole thing’s anonymous. You think I’d actually sign my name to something so… _controversial?”_

Phasma snorts. “Ben, this isn’t the _Dark Ages_. People are actually far more open and outspoken about sex than they were in years past—thanks in no small part to virtual communities like the ones you’re engaging. When done right, and in a healthy setting, I really don’t see why this couldn’t be an acceptable hobby for anyone who is so inclined.”

Again, Ben’s more than a bit speechless. Though he’d never planned on telling her about this—at least not for awhile—he _definitely_ hadn’t anticipated a positive reaction. It’s supposed to be gross, right? Even if he’s just using his voice to help people get off, surely that doesn’t make it _socially acceptable._ Does Phas actually think this is a good idea? A healthy “creative outlet,” as she’d called it?

His knee starts bouncing.

“Is that _your_ opinion or _Dr._ _Phasma’s_ opinion? You know I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to speak to me again--”

“Benjamin Solo, don’t you dare go rogue on me,” she scolds, shaking her finger at him. “I’m in a very happy long-term relationship with a nonbinary person—something that would’ve been considered quite bizarre just a few years ago. Does that mean it’s weird now? Or gross?”

Properly stunned, he immediately backtracks. “No—no! That’s not what I meant at all, Phas, I hope you don’t think I think that about you and Paige!”

Phasma shakes her head fondly, chuckling. “Of course I don’t, Ben. Your friendship means the world to us both, and I hope you never doubt that. All I’m saying is that times have _changed_ —and keep changing all the time. Sure, some sticks in the mud are bound to find fault with your choice of pastime, but the same could be said of pretty much any hobby. I’m not saying you should announce it to the whole world if that’s not something you want to do, but perhaps try expanding your inner circle a bit. Paige and I adore you, but we’d also love to see you step outside your comfort zone every now and then. Can you try that for us—for me?”

A hefty sigh rushes out past his lips, but it’s more cathartic than frustrated. Of _course_ she’d ask the Impossible Task, and just thinking about it is already starting to make his skin crawl. Still, if she and Paige are actually concerned about his lack of friends….

“Yeah,” he finally mutters. He pinches the bridge of his nose to try and relieve some of the tension pooled there. “Yeah, I can try.”

Phasma beams, her short, white-blonde curls bobbing as she straightens up in her seat. “Lovely! Although, that doesn’t mean you need to stop cooking for us, you know.”

A light-hearted wink is quick to follow, drawing a much-needed laugh from his lungs.

“Whatever you say, _doctor_ Phasma.”

Ben’s not surprised when a well-aimed binder clip slaps his leather jacket.

@:@:@:@:@

**From:** Lisa Anon <audiophiles.anon@gmail.com>

 **To:** whiskey_lullaby <whiskey_lullaby@soundgasm.net>

 **Date:** Sept 3, 2020, 9:17 AM

 **Subject:** Interview for Audiophiles Anonymous

_To whom it may concern:_

_Hello! My name is Lisa and I’m writing you today in hopes of setting up an interview for a podcast I co-host called_ Audiophiles Anonymous. _As I’m sure you know, your popularity on Soundgasm is unmatched, and my partner John and I have received countless requests to have you on our show. We realize anonymity is important to you—we don’t find you on any social media sites—and please be assured we don’t need to know anything you aren’t willing to share. If this is something you think you’d be interested in, we’d love to hear back from you at your earliest convenience! You can reach us by replying to this email, or by phone at the number listed below…._

For the hundredth time in nearly as many days, Ben rereads the email burning a hole in his Soundgasm account. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it, then thought better of it, then kicked himself for not just _doing_ it. But after his conversation with Phasma, the urge to jump off that proverbial cliff glows like white hot iron in his gut, urging him to do it, just _do it, Ben._ If it’s anonymous, what does he have to lose? The hosts are probably just exaggerating about his popularity, too—anything to get an interview. Oh well. Whatever their motives, Ben decides then and there, still sitting in his car in the parking lot of Empire Medical, that he’ll take the leap of faith.

Before he can think twice, he replies.

_I’d love to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm... wonder what that interview will be about.
> 
> did you know bourbon_neat actually did an interview with a podcast like the one i described? if you'd also like to fall in love with him, you can listen by copy & pasting this link into your browser: https://m.mixcloud.com/branndon-tawney/behind-the-audiophile/


	2. hearing is believing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to the one & only @KylosWidow, my dyad in the force and fellow bourbon stan 🖤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! a few matters of business before you dive in:
> 
> 1) there are several screenshots in this chapter. following the lead of the lovely TrashPile11, i’ve included transcriptions below each pic as well as time stamps for the ones you’ll want to pay attention to. (PS, she and i both agree—transcribing is awesome and we should all do it! feel free to use this format in your own creations).
> 
> 2) things are about to get significantly more spicy. i have tagged everything i can think of, but if you find anything of significance that you think i should add, please lmk! that said—read at your own risk, darlings, and i’ll keep my fingers crossed that i’m able to catch all the cws!
> 
> 3) speaking of spice, here’s the bourbon_neat recording i’m more or less transcribing in this chapter. i take absolutely zero credit for his incredible work, and what little i’ve added/subtracted was purely for narrative purposes. if you’re so inclined, it’s certainly fun to listen to as you read, but you’ll probably want headphones 🥵 [bourbon_neat, M4F, I need you, I fucking NEED you, Older Man Younger Woman, Babysitter, Aggression, Need](https://soundgasm.net/u/bourbon_neat/M4F-I-need-you-I-fucking-NEED-you-OlderManYoungerWoman-Babysitter-Aggression-Need)
> 
> 4) if you’re interested in learning more about the phenomenon that is audio erotica, i stumbled upon this article during my *ahem* research 😅 [What is audio porn and is it and exploitation free way to get off?](https://i-d.vice.com/amp/en_us/article/439x7n/what-is-audio-porn-and-is-it-an-exploitation-free-way-to-get-off)
> 
> 5) this is unbetad so... i apologize in advance for the mess lol
> 
> ALL RIGHT, i’m shutting up now. i hope you enjoy!! 💖

“Did he really just do that?”

“Yeah, I think he did.”

“...what is he trying to do to us?!”

“Tyranny is what it is, Peanut. Pure, unadulterated despotism. Welcome to the reign of terror.”

For no less than the fifteenth time, Rey stares at the new and unanticipated assignment Ackbar’s just handed down from on high. They now have exactly two weeks to read his _own_ 500-page dissertation and produce a thirty-page research paper referencing no less than twenty sources.

His reasoning?

_They didn’t have enough to keep them busy until exam week._

Rey swallows against the nausea rising in her throat.

“This is the stupidest thing that’s ever happened to me!” she laments, expecting agreement from Finn. It most definitely is _not_ the stupidest thing to ever happen to her, but she’s not above using a white lie to seem normal. “How is he allowed to do this to us?”

Finn works his jaw as they walk and tugs his peacoat over his shoulders. “I don’t know. Certainly doesn’t seem like a legitimate thing to do. Tenure I suppose.”

Rey sneers at the word _tenure_ like it’s personally insulted her. “True. But you know…” she continues, a perfectly wicked idea popping into her head. “If he wants to be infamous for his Caesarian-esque teaching style, maybe we should take this to Twitter.”

 _“Way_ ahead of you, Peanut,” Finn cackles, procuring his phone to show her the screen.

  
  
“greco-roman history professor really just tried to tell us we gotta read a 500 pg doc in 2 wks??? ummmmmmm *drops out*”  
****

**Finn Fights Fascists 👊 | @fire_storm | 11/20/20 | 9:57 AM  
**

**————————**

“Ugh! Wait for me!” she huffs, following him out of the building. Sadly, they’ll soon be parting ways for the remainder of the day, but she’s thankful they at least have social media to keep them in touch. “Uh oh, looks like Poe’s already seen it.”

**Replying to @fire_storm:  
**

“Fuck that!! Ackbar?”  
****

**Poe Dameron | @damn_dameron | 11/20/20**

**————————**

_“Excellent,”_ replies a grinning Finn. She imagines he’d be twirling his handlebar mustache right about now—if he had one. “Ten points to House Storm for taking advantage of his fiance‘s fame.”

Rey snorts. “You have to realize how that sounds, right? You’re ridiculous.”

“All’s fair in love and war, Peanut,” is his cocky reply, shrugging. Rey just shakes her head, barely holding back a laugh.

“Oh boy, here comes Rose giving us shit.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

**Reysist 💪 | @kiss_kenobi | Replying to @damn_dameron:  
**

“the one & only. i’m so fucking over this class 😭”

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹 | @tico_me_pink | Replying to @kiss_kenobi:**

“I told you all not to take that class. no one ever listens to me………”  
**————————**

For a few moments, they walk in silence, rolling their eyes and laughing out loud in equal measure.

**Reysist 💪 | @kiss_kenobi | Replying to @tico_me_pink:  
**

“IM SO SORRY FOR DOUBTING U ROSIE PLS 4GIVE ME 😭😭😭”

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹 | @tico_me_pink | Replying to @kiss_kenobi:**

“drop me a whiskey_lullaby recording and we’ll call it even 😌”

**Finn Fights Fascists 👊 | @fire_storm | Replying to @tico_me_pink:**

“OHHHH NO DONT U DARE POLLUTE MY TL WITH THAT SHIT. Keep it in ur dms, ladies!!!”

**Poe Dameron | @damn_dameron | Replying to @fire_storm:**

“What’s a whiskey_lullaby?”

**Finn Fights Fascists 👊 | @fire_storm | Replying to @damn_dameron:**

“DO NOT ENGAGE POE I REPEAT DO NOT ENGAGE”

**Reysist 💪 | @kiss_kenobi | Replying to @fire_storm:**

“oh finnegan, don’t be such a party pooper”

**Finn Fights Fascists 👊 | @fire_storm | Replying to @kiss_kenobi:**

“i’m NOT”

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹 | @tico_me_pink | Replying to @fire_storm:**

“Don’t act like you don’t listen in in your spare time Mr. Practically Married”

**Finn Fights Fascists 👊 | @fire_storm | Replying to @tico_me_pink:**

“i DONT. i’m just usually the innocent bystander whenever you two go off on your simping sprees. 🤢”

**Poe Dameron | @damn_dameron | Replying to @fire_storm:**

“Why shouldn’t i ask what a whiskey_lullaby is???”

**Reysist 💪 | @kiss_kenobi | Replying to @damn_dameron:**

“don’t listen to finn, he’s obviously feverish. whiskey_lullaby is an anon audio erotica creator on @eargasmer. oh, and he HAS THE VOICE OF A GOD”

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹 | @tico_me_pink | Replying to @kiss_kenobi:**

“PREACH, GIRL 👏👏👏”

**Poe Dameron | @damn_dameron | Replying to @tico_me_pink:**

“.........can you send me the link, too? 👀”

**Finn Fights Fascists 👊 | @fire_storm | Replying to @damn_dameron:**

“unbelievable. betrayed in my own house.”

**Reysist 💪 | @kiss_kenobi | Replying to @fire_storm:**

“i love u, finne 😘😘”

**Finn Fights Fascists 👊 | @fire_storm | Replying to @kiss_kenobi:**

“...love u too peanut.”

**Reysist 💪 | @kiss_kenobi | Replying to @damn_dameron:**

“lmk what you think 😜 soundgasm.net/u/whiskey_lullaby283829190”

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹 | @tico_me_pink | Replying to @kiss_kenobi:**

“YESSSS IT’S EVEN FILTHIER THAN THE LAST ONE 🥵🥵🥵”

**Poe Dameron | @damn_dameron | Replying to @tico_me_pink:**

“Oh… Oh wow. Yeah, I think I’m with Finn on this one, babes. He sounds creepy. 😳”

**Finn Fights Fascists 👊 | @fire_storm | Replying to @damn_dameron:**

“I AM TRIUMPHANT ONCE MORE”

**Reysist 💪 | @kiss_kenobi | Replying to @damn_dameron:**

“suit yourselffffffff 🤗”

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹 | @tico_me_pink | Replying to @damn_dameron:**

“Some people have no taste 🙄”

**Finn Fights Fascists 👊 | @fire_storm | Replying to @tico_me_pink:**

“gee thanks rosie 🤧🤧”

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹 | @tico_me_pink | Replying to @fire_storm:**

“Oh, I didn’t mean you, you goof! ILYSM 💙”

**Finn Fights Fascists 👊 | @fire_storm | Replying to @tico_me_pink:**

“ily2 💙💙”

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹 | @tico_me_pink | Replying to @fire_storm:**

“🥰🥰”

**Poe Dameron | @damn_dameron | Replying to @tico_me_pink:**

“And we all love me so let’s GOOOOOO”

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹 | @tico_me_pink | Replying to @damn_dameron:**

”🤦🏻♀️”

————————

“Ya know, your future husband might be hot, but he’s kind of an ass.”

“What? Because he doesn’t like your _precious_ whiskey_lullaby? That just means he has even better taste than we thought.”

Finn abruptly stops to strike a pose as if he’s modeling for GQ, and Rey’s eyes shoot skyward once more.

“Nevermind; you’re right. You two are perfect for each other,” she gripes, but she’s quick to soften the bite of her words with a hug—they’ve arrived at their parting point anyways. “Love you, Peanut.”

“Hey, that’s my line,” he jabs, but there’s no heat to it. He places a kiss to her forehead. “Hope your Friday gets better.”

Her heart warms at his unabashed affection as it always does. “You too.”

With that, they go their separate ways, hurrying across the crowded campus to class.

@:@:@:@:@

Contrary to Finn’s well-wishes, the rest of her Friday passes in a frenzied blur of final assignments, reviews, and the panicked inception of study groups. Needless to say, when Rey finally _does_ get back to her dorm, she’s fucking _exhausted._ What’s more, Rose is nowhere to be found, but that’s not totally surprising. She often does her homework at First Order on Fridays because Hux usually works doubles, and little do they know that it’s a blessing in disguise to Rey.

She has someone of her own to pine over, after all.

It’s only five o’clock, but Rey rushes through her nightly ablutions anyway. Cup of mac and cheese for dinner, a nice, hot shower, clean teeth, and then she’s ready.

Time once more for her whiskey_lullaby.

As she skips into her room, she opens a private tab on her phone’s web browser and grabs her wireless earbuds. After voting in the poll he’d posted to his Soundgasm feed last week, she’d forced herself not to look at the results until tonight—she wants to be pleasantly surprised. 

God, just _thinking_ about the four choices he’d posted has her blood rushing to her face and her core tingling. But even as she opens the post, she’s careful not to peek at the details. When the possibilities are ”dd/lg impreg,” “threesome with two whiskeys,” ”divorced dad & babysitter,” or “sugar baby gets spanked,” well… Rey wins no matter what.

She carefully slips into bed and sits her phone on the nightstand. The play button glares up toward the darkened ceiling as she retrieves her trusty vibrator, and then it’s time.

She presses play.

 _Hey. Where are you—where are the kids?_ rumbles whiskey, and already, Rey’s melting into her sheets like hot butter. _The babysitter’s been waiting here for over an hour. You were supposed to be here by four, we agreed—_

Ah, it would seem Rey will be playing the part of babysitter tonight. Oh, how she would give anything for this to be _real._

Ignorant of her plight, whiskey continues.

 _No, you can’t do this! You have your days and I have mine—you can’t just_ keep _them on my days without consulting me—_

Good _god,_ his voice. Deep as sin and rich as chocolate cake, it’s aggressive and inviting all at once. The only thing unrealistic about this recording is the thought that someone could ever willingly divorce a man who sounds good enough to eat….

 _You know I don’t get home until six. The entire time we were_ married, _I never got home until six. Besides, this was all_ your _idea. Moving out, the divorce, taking the kids—all you. What? Of course I’m mad! She’s babysat them for years; why are you suddenly so distrustful—hello? Hello? God_ dammit….

At the heated curse, Rey shivers, already anticipating his next move. She warms the tip of the vibrator in her trembling palm.

_I’m sorry you had to hear that. She’s just trying to piss me off, to get a rise out of me—anything to use against me in the divorce. That it’s at the expense of your time is of no consequence to her._

A heavy sigh. Then, without warning, he laughs.

And _god_ what a laugh it is. He could give any Bond villain a run for their money. Knowing what typically follows, Rey braces herself once more.

 _I don’t get it. I try to be accommodating, to be supportive, to_ co-parent, _but she just throws it all right back in my face._

_No, I’m all right, I just…._

_You know what? Fuck it. No. I’m not all right. I’m_ tired _of being used, tired of being stepped on._ Fuck! _I’m just so… pent up. I just need to pin someone down and fuck the living shit out of them—god dammit!_

There it is. That quickly, Rey feels a distinct wetness gathering in the gusset of her underwear, and then her hand’s moving, positioning the yet-quiet vibrator to massage her clit through the thin fabric still covering her mound.

This recording might just be her ruin.

 _Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay? Well, it’s just that… uh, your face got all red and your-your nipples are hard—I can see them through your shirt, um…_ God, _this is a bad idea, but I’m so pent up I’m going to explode._

Rey whimpers, actually _whimpers_ at the implication in his soft, breathless tones. She’s not sure she’s ever longed to know what he looks like more than she does in this moment. In her mind’s eye, she settles for something tall, dark, and handsome—a man with generic, unremarkable features, but somehow, she _knows_ her rendition doesn’t do him justice.

When next he speaks, he sounds fucking _wrecked._

 _Um... I guess I can finally say this now that she and I are officially separated, but... I have_ always _been attracted to you. I-I think that’s one of the reasons she doesn’t want to bring them over because she_ knows. _She knows how I feel about you._

 _And I_ know… _I know you’ve been attracted to me for a long time, too._

If she weren’t so turned on, Rey might actually roll her eyes. _You have no idea, Mr. Lullaby…._

He sighs again, thick with want, and her entire lower half sparks like a sheared live wire.

 _So. Here’s what’s gonna happen. Unless you tell me to stop, I’m going to_ take you. _I am going to lay you back on that couch… and I’m going to lick your cunt, and I am going to_ fuck you _until you come all over my cock… Then I’m going to fill you up, shove every last drop of my come deep inside you. But if that’s not what you want, I need you to tell me now, right now. Because once I start I will not stop until I feel your hot little pussy choking on my cock._

_You want that, little one?_

“Y-yes,” Rey squeaks aloud, timing her strokes with each of his heavy breaths. A brief pause is the only warning she receives before she’s hit with a feral growl—a sound so glorious, her mouth actually waters.

_Good girl…._

Her breath catches in her throat, and from this moment on, she knows to latch onto every word.

 _Get those jeans off, baby girl._ Fuck, _just as gorgeous as I imagined. God_ dammit _I can’t wait to taste that little cunt. On the couch now, sweetheart. On your back. That’s it… such a good girl for Daddy, aren’t you? Mmmm… Oh my_ god _you look fucking_ edible _, baby. Such soft thighs…_ Fuck, _how are you dripping wet for me already? I haven’t even tasted you yet._

_Are you ready, little one? Do you want my tongue? Use your words, baby. I need to hear you say it._

“G- _god_ yes,” Rey whimpers, finally shimmying out of her underwear. The movement causes her nipples to catch on the fabric of her shirt, and a wave of goosebumps instantly pebbles her skin. She’s quick to grab her vibe again, but this time she flicks it to the lowest setting before pressing it back to her now-naked clit.

She couldn’t have held back her ensuing moan even if she’d wanted to.

As if he knows her every thought, whiskey growls, resuming his faux-make out session with her cunt.

 _Good girl. Mmmm…_ Fuck, _you taste even better than I’d imagined. Mmmph… Do you know-you know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you? God_ dammit! _Look at me, little one. Look. At. Me. Don't you dare take your eyes off of me. I want you to watch me, look how wet you make my chin…._

Tears sting her eyes as her lower abdomen winds ever tighter. The humming vibe slides between her lips with an embarrassing amount of ease, but _oh,_ how she loves it. At his command, the dark man of her dreams reappears behind her lids, down between her legs, and _god_ how her fingers ache to wind into his jet black hair….

 _Mmmmph…_ God! _That’s it, baby. Roll your hips against my face. Fuck! I can feel you tightening up. You gonna come for me? Huh? Gonna come on my face, you little slut?_

Rey cries out just as whiskey laughs, and the contrast isn’t lost on her lust-addled brain. Below, she works the vibe faster, dialing up the intensity with a trembling finger.

_No. Not yet, you’re not. You’re gonna take my cock first, baby girl._

That fast, she freezes, chest heaving. She should probably be embarrassed, the way she’s all too eager to please the man who has no idea she even exists. Whiskey just laughs some more as if to mock her desperation, punctuated by the sound of a belt clinking open.

_Shhh, it’s all right, little one. Daddy’s got a big cock, but you’re gonna take it so well… God, you’re so beautiful like this, so eager to get fucked._

Rey ever-so-lightly angles her vibrator against her entrance, silently begging him for more. When he finally _does_ give the cue, she’ll be all too ready to follow his lead.

_You ready?_

She nods, then presses the vibe through her weeping flesh as whiskey pretends to impale her himself.

 _...Mmmm—_ Fuck!

 _Oh shhhit—oh my_ god _you’re so tight, baby…._

 _God dammit. Yeah. Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart. So fucking wet you took every bit of me, every_ fucking _bit of me. Such a good girl. You like being Daddy’s little slut, don’t you? Huh? That’s it. Take my cock, baby, take my cock… FUCK!_

“Oh my _god!”_ she keens, fucking herself with the vibrator. It’s far too slim for how thick she imagines whiskey must be, but she still feels that familiar quickening in her tummy just from his coaxing alone.

 _God dammit… Look at you. You take me so well, baby—Jesus_ Christ. _Mmmm… So wet, so tight, so_ perfect. _Tits bouncing while I fuck you._ _You are what I want, baby girl. You, only you. Shit—_

 _“Please,”_ Rey begs to the empty room. She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for; the sound of his voice alone is enough to warrant a plea for mercy. _“Please, Daddy….”_

 _Look at me. Look at me, baby girl. Do you want my come? Fucking_ answer _me_ . _Do you. Want. My come? God_ dammit! _Well you are gonna get it. You’re gonna_ fucking _get it, you little slut. That’s right, you’re my dirty little slut. Daddy’s little whore, aren’t you? Hm?_

When he laughs this time, Rey nearly screams.

 _Mmmm I know how much you want it, little one. And I’ll give it to you—just as soon as I feel your pussy spasm on my cock. Come on, baby. Be a good girl and come on Daddy’s cock so he can fill you up. You wanna please me, don’t you?_ _Yeah, I know you do, baby. Come on. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuckme fuckme fuckme fuckme—oh my_ god! _Come, baby girl. Come right now! COME!_

Just like that, the switch flips. Her vision whites out, her lungs seize, and every drop of blood in her body rushes south, drawn to the magnetism of whiskey’s command. She does her best to keep going, to keep fucking herself with the vibrator, but her arm still stutters with every wave of euphoria that issues from her well-abused core.

In her ear, whiskey reacts as if he’s just as affected by her orgasm, sputtering and coughing and moaning as if he can feel her milking him for all he’s worth.

 _God DAMMIT—Fuck!—Oh my_ god, _baby—don’t stop, don’t you stop, don’t you stop—gonna fill you up—_ shit, _baby, I’m gonna fill you up—_

He growls like a mad beast when he “comes,” his breathing as quick and wrecked as her own. How he manages to sound so realistic absolutely astounds her.

 _And now you’re going to take every drop, you little slut, every_ fucking _drop!_

 _“Hnngh—”_ Rey nearly chokes, so unprepared she was for his last minute command. She immediately resumes fucking herself on the vibrator, half agony and half hopeful that she’ll somehow be able to come a second time—

_That’s right. Good girl. You like being good for me don’t you? Mmmmhmhm… good. Because after we rest a bit, we’re going for round two…._

She comes again just as the recording ends.

@:@:@:@:@

She’s not sure how long she lay there, fighting every moment to catch her breath. As she typically does when she’s coming-to, she begins to feel inexplicably emotional and more than a little lonely. God, _why_ does she keep doing this to herself? Why doesn’t she just find a hookup like a normal horny person?

Would it really be as awful as she fears?

 _Yes,_ her subconscious butts in, scolding her like an angry mother hen. _Whiskey can’t leave you. Real people can. You’ve been abandoned before; what’s stopping someone from doing it again?_

That fast, she’s yanked back to reality. Right. People suck, and she’s obviously not worth holding on to. Besides, how could she even _think_ of snubbing whiskey for some flesh-and-blood jerk? He blows everyone else out of the water.

Hell bent on finding a distraction, Rey grabs her phone and heads over to Twitter. Nothing like a bit of real world drama to reset her febrile mind.

She scrolls and scrolls, absently reading every other post—until one tweet in particular catches her eye.

It’s from Soundgasm’s account. And it’s about their most popular anonymous content creator, whiskey_lullaby.

“THIS JUST IN: From @AnonAudio ‘Guess what, Audiophiles?! THE whiskey_lullaby has agreed to an interview on our podcast!!! Tune in Monday, Nov 23rd @ 4:00 pm PST to hear straight from the man himself!’”

**Soundgasm | @eargasmer | 11/20/20 | 6:52 PM**

————————

It was posted just minutes ago, and already, it’s gotten almost 4,500 likes.

But wait—Rose liked it? She immediately jumps over to her messages, and it’s then she finds all the texts waiting for her.

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹**

**Today 6:57 PM**

  
REY

REYYYYYYYY

OH MY G O D

ANSWER ME, THIS IS FUCKING IMPORTANT

well, not life or death, but still !!!!!!!!

[Screenshot of Audiophiles Anonymous tweet mentioned above]

have you seen this????

————————

Rey lay frozen to the spot, her pulse pounding in her ears. She’s dreamed about this moment for _months—_ the moment whiskey finally steps into the spotlight and addresses his fans. Sure, it’ll still be anonymous, but to know even a little bit more about him has her feeling high on delight alone. She’d been worried tonight’s recording would be her ruin, but little did she know she was counting her eggs before they’d hatched. Whiskey’s just pulled a fast one on her, and there’s no doubt in her mind—she won’t be able to hang on.

@:@: **Ben** :@:@

“Wait, are you serious?”

“Yes, Whiskey. I’m glad we bumped you up to this week; we’ve gained over a thousand followers in just the past hour alone. Don’t you ever look at your stats on Soundgasm?”

“Uhh, no. I try not to think too much about any of it to be quite honest. I thought you were just exaggerating in your inquiry email.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, ya know. To… hype me up or whatever.”

“Wow. That’s definitely surprising. You legitimately have the largest, most devoted following we’ve found, and I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been asked when we’re going to interview you.”

For the tenth time in as many minutes, Ben sighs, totally dumbfounded. To think he’s actually garnered such a following is just mind-boggling, so much so that he’s not sure it’ll ever sink in. Over 500,000 play counts? A whole mob of Twitter “stans” “thirsting” over him?—whatever that means. Surely he’s just fallen ill and this is all some bizarre fever dream…

...Right?

On the other end of their anonymous call, John finally speaks up.

“Hey, don’t let us overwhelm you or anything. We don’t have to talk stats if it freaks you out.”

Swallowing the lump of nerves in his throat, Ben‘s quick to reply. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s just… a lot to take in. I had no idea so many people like what I create.”

“Yeah, we hear that from the majority of folks we interview. But you still reign supreme over Soundgasm in general.”

A laugh bubbles up before he can stop it, and he vaguely wonders if either of these people have gotten off to the sound of his voice before. Thank _god_ he’d waited to get home before he called; his face flushes tomato red at the thought.

“So, uhh, what all does this interview entail?”

Lisa responds this time. “Whatever you want it to. We have a list of general questions that I’ll send your way, but if there’s something you aren’t comfortable answering, we absolutely respect that.”

Ben nods before he remembers they can’t see him. “Oh okay, thanks. I can’t think of anything I don’t really want to discuss off the top of my head—aside from stuff that would reveal my identity, I mean.”

“Oh, wonderful! And yes, that’s completely understandable. This is more or less meant to be a little side dish to your main course. As you’ll see from the list, we stick mostly to business rather than pleasure. The hobbies and kinks questions might be the most personal ones we ask.”

Ben lowers the phone from his ear to tap the speaker icon before swiping over to the Soundgasm app. Just as she’d said, the list is there waiting for him in his inbox, presenting him with an array of questions that, at first glance, seem innocent enough.

_What would you say are your top three favorite sex positions and/or kinks?_

Well. Mostly innocent. He’s the one who records audio porn for fun, after all.

After a quick glance at the remaining questions, Ben clears his throat.

“Okay, I think I’m ready.”

He can hear the smile in Lisa’s voice as she replies. “Great! Let’s get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t worry, Ben’s taking the lead next chapter. i’m as excited for this interview as y’all are 👀👀
> 
> your kudos and comments are my bread and butter, babes 💕


	3. easy to pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies in advance, my loves; this is primarily plot. i'm hoping the next chapter will bring more angst at the very least!
> 
> i hope you enjoy <3

_It’s fine, you’re fine, Ben. Just answer the questions and don’t overthink it. What would Whiskey do?_

“Hey, Whiskey? You still there?”

Ben’s hands tremble as he sits at his desk and dons his recording equipment—something that’s never happened before, he realizes. _Get a grip, man. You’re_ whiskey_lullaby _—the most popular audio erotica creator on Soundgasm._

_Besides, remember what Phas had asked you to do?_

_“...we’d love to see you step outside your comfort zone every now and then. Can you try that for us—for me?”_

Gulping a deep breath, Ben lets it push past his lips in a cathartic sigh, then clears his throat.

“Yeah, I’m still here. Ready when you are.”

“Sweet! Just a sec and we’ll set up the Cleanfeed call.”

Ben mumbles some vague acknowledgment and adjusts his headphones, locking his phone. The questions they’d sent just keep swirling around his head like a relentless typhoon of TMI, even if they’re mostly harmless. Ben double checks his wifi strength and VPN, then checks each of them again. He’s done well to remain anonymous thus far; god forbid all his hard work go to waste now.

Who knows how the world would react were they to discover his true identity.

His computer screen lights up when the Cleanfeed audio call comes in, and Ben forces himself to take a deep breath.

_Here goes nothing…._

“Hey, can you hear us?” Lisa asks, followed by some muffled noise, like she’s adjusting her mic. “John, are you here, too?”

“I’m here,” John replies, clearing his throat. Ben follows his lead.

“Yeah, I can hear you guys. So, how does this work?”

“Oh, nothing too formal,” says Lisa, giggling. “Just your run of the mill porn interview, you know?”

At that, John laughs, though Ben swears he can hear his eyes rolling. “Just be yourself, man. The people know you as Big Bad Whiskey, but they wanna know what you’re like when you aren’t encouraging them to orgasm. Well, I mean, unless that’s how you are all the time.”

Sweat gathers in his palms at the mere thought. “Oh, god no. This is just a hobby; I’m basically a hermit living out in the middle of nowhere. Are you sure this is a good idea? What if it makes my fans… disenchanted?”

“Trust me, Whiskey,” Lisa butts in, her voice dreamy in a way that makes him wonder if _she’s_ a fan. “There’s hardly anything you could say that would scare away your following.”

John immediately snorts. “What my starstruck colleague is trying to say is: don’t overthink it. Share what you want, keep the rest private, and just be yourself. Your base is solid, my friend. They’re gonna love you even more than they already do.”

Ben swallows against the lump of nerves building in his throat before finally mumbling, “All right.”

“Cool! Lisa, you wanna do the intro this time?”

“You go ahead, I need to grab a glass of water.”

“All right,” John mutters, and Ben can’t help but feel like an innocent bystander wedged between a quarreling couple on public transport. “Whiskey, feel free to say hello once I’ve said your name, okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

Without further preamble, John begins.

“Welcome back, Audiophiles! As some of you may know, our interview schedule experienced quite the upset this week when we received an unexpected message from the king of Soundgasm himself, but we’d be lying if we said we weren’t thrilled. Everyone, say hello to the one and only, Mr. Whiskey Lullaby!”

“Hello, everyone,” Ben mumbles, voice tinny from awkwardness. Fucking hell. Little do John and Lisa know, but this is gonna be the worst interview they’ve ever done.

“No need to be nervous, man. These people are literally your bread and butter. Just relax; address them like you would an old friend.”

Ben heaves a deep breath. “Right, sorry, uh—hey, listeners.”

“Awww, don’t be nervous, Whiskey!” coos Lisa, reappearing just in time to witness Ben’s crippling apprehension. “These folks truly adore you! Here, what if I read you some fan mail? Have you ever gotten messages before? Is that a dumb question?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” is his eloquent reply. Ben stretches his back to try and relieve some of the tension building there before he realizes he hasn’t completely answered her. “And no, not a dumb question. I have my direct messages closed to anyone but Soundgasm affiliates like you guys. This was more about exploring a hobby than anything, and I didn’t want people’s opinion to affect the joy it gives me, ya know?”

“Wow, you really need to hear some of these messages then,” John responds, followed by some shuffling sounds. “Can I read this one tweet I saw first thing Saturday morning?”

Ben and Lisa hum their agreement.

“This is from @KylosWidow: ‘Oh. My. Gods. You guys!!! @AnonAudio IS INTERVIEWING WHISKEY FOR THEIR NEXT PODCAST AND I’M NOT GOING TO SURVIVE!!!! Currently setting 37 reminders. I can NOT miss this.’”

Now it’s Ben’s turn to chuckle, breathy with disbelief. Is he really so loved?

“That seems to be a pretty ubiquitous theme,” Lisa adds, giggling some more. Ben gets the distinct impression that this is turning into some sort of weird competition between the two hosts—to see who can find the most ridiculous tweet. “This was a comment we received about thirty minutes after the announcement went live on Soundgasm’s Twitter account, from @kiss_kenobi: ‘i am shaking. SHAKING, BABES. my future husband’s being interviewed by @AnonAudio and i can’t fucking breathe!! whiskey, if you somehow see this, please consider this my formal proposal.’ They end the tweet with about six hearts of all different colors.”

 _This is absurd,_ he should say. _There’s no way someone could want to_ marry me _just from listening to my voice, right?_

Instead, his heart flutters, pumping blood up to his cheeks in a way that reminds him of his awkward schoolboy days. God, he’d give anything to be able to discern whether this person’s being genuine or sarcastic. Maybe he really _should_ work on his social skills, if only to teach himself how to interpret nuances like this.

Regardless, he can’t pretend to be unaffected by this. His laugh turns lighter, less recognizable when he responds, “Oh wow. I’m flattered, kiss_kenobi, but perhaps we could settle on a first date for the time being?”

“Oh my god,” Lisa gushes softly. Ben doesn’t even need to know what she looks like to hear the Cheshire grin curving her lip. “This episode is gonna put us on the _map.”_

“You can say that again,” laughs John, and without further ado, he posits the first question. “All right, my friend. Tell us: what got you into audio erotica?”

Ben pulls another deep breath, and then he speaks.

  
@:@: **Rey** :@:@

“eleven hours and counting 🥃🎧🥴”

**Reysist | @kiss_kenobi |11/23/20 | 8:06 AM**

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹 | @tico_me_pink | Replying to @kiss_kenobi:**

“If I’m able to concentrate for more than 3 seconds at a time today, it’ll be a miracle 😳”

\----------------

“...so please take advantage of office hours if you feel you need them. I can’t stress enough the importance of asking questions—and there’s no such thing as a dumb question, people—if there’s something you don’t understand. Oh, and don’t forget about Wednesday’s schedule change!”

Rey stands to gather her things, relieved to be done with her last class of the day. _Linear Circuits_ is just one of many electrical engineering classes taught by Dr. Luke Skywalker, and _god_ has it been strenuous. Truth be told, this class had initially frightened her as much as _Greco-Roman History_ —especially considering how many of her fellow ELET majors had been forced to retake it. And yet it’s sort of… grown on her. Where most things in her new life lack challenge, this is the one thing that’s called her bluff time and again, and it’s a welcome obstacle to work against.

Not to mention Dr. Skywalker doesn’t play favorites. Some of her professors past and present have seemed more lenient because of her _lineage_ , but not Luke. If anything, he grades her _more_ acutely, almost as if he’s trying to find any minuscule mistake, but for some strange reason, Rey finds she prefers it.

Oh, and he’s also her grandfather’s best friend. So there’s that.

As she makes her way down from the tiered seating, he calls her over.

“Rey, do you have a sec?”

She waves to a couple classmates before making her way over to the elder, bespectacled man. He’s scratching his graying beard in that way that warns her he’s got something on his mind, so she braces herself with a deep breath on her approach.

“Yes, Dr. Skywalker?” Sheesh, she sounds exhausted even to her own ears. She’d spent most of the weekend trying to finish Ackbar’s ridiculous dissertation, and when she wasn’t reading, she was glued to the Audiophiles Anonymous Twitter account, praying for any sort of update.

And… perhaps she’d celebrated a bit too hard upon seeing their announcement.

Regardless, her exhaustion must be obvious; Luke’s eyebrows disappear into his shaggy hair.

“Damn, you sound rough, kid. I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to know how the project’s coming along.”

Rey nods, shifting her books to one arm so she can knead her aching eyes. “Oh. Yeah, it’s fine so far. Just need to triple check my equations, then I think I’m good.”

Luke chuckles, turning to gather his own things. It’s almost comical, she thinks, the way he carries most of his office around with him—as if there’ll be an engineering emergency at any moment and only a cranky old professor can save them all. “Just three checks? From a _Kenobi?_ I’m not sure if that’s just some youngling recklessness or outright bravado, but I sure look forward to grading it.”

She just rolls her eyes, brushing off his jab as usual. “I’ll make sure to type it up in twenty point font so it’s easier for you, Professor. Or would thirty point be better?”

“Watch it, kid,” he fires back, but there’s no heat to it. He’s almost laughing even as he continues scolding her. “Make fun of us oldies all you want, but when you need experience instead of textbooks to work through an issue, don’t come crying to me.”

Rey can’t help it; she snorts inelegantly. “Noted.” 

Content to let him revel in his feigned hubris, she turns to leave—when a thought suddenly occurs to her. “Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask—did we ever decide if we’re having Thanksgiving at your place or Granddad’s this year?”

“Well, he got the bigger half of the wishbone last year, so he won the power of choice. He didn’t tell you what he picked?”

She shakes her head, trying to think through the fog of exhaustion plaguing her brain. “No, he didn’t. That’s kind of why I’m asking you—and don’t tell me it’s a dumb question; you literally just said there’s no such thing.”

He chuckles as they finally make their way out of the empty lecture hall and start off in the direction of his office. _“Fine_. If I recall, I believe he said we should accept my sister’s offer to host.”

Well _that_ throws her off guard. Luke has a _sister?_ How did she not know this? She asks as much.

“Well it’s… complicated,” he mumbles, scratching his head. His eyes seem to brighten a bit—though whether with mischief or mirth, she’s unsure. “Did I ever tell you your grandpa got me that Ancestry DNA thing for Christmas a few years back—the thing that helped you two find each other, too?”

Rey starts, nodding carefully. Even exhausted, the mere mention of finding her grandpa by blind chance makes her eyes water, though certainly not in a bad way. To think it could help Luke too is… incredible.

“So I submitted it as soon as I could, but of course it’s no good unless you happen to have relatives who do it, too. Well, last summer… I got a hit.”

As they maneuver around a group of chatting students, Rey beams, skipping back to his side like a spring colt. “No way! Are you serious?! That’s amazing, Professor!”

Luke returns her blinding smile with one a bit more reserved, though no less jovial. “That it is, kid, and you’ll never guess who she is.”

There’s no way she doesn’t look like a kid on Christmas morning when she then begs, “Who?!”

He pauses for a moment, obviously enjoying her tightly-wound glee. _Oh, what of it?_ she wants to ask, not the least bit ashamed of her reaction. Her own DNA result has brought her limitless joy, so he can sue her for all she cares—she wants to _know!_

He doesn’t speak again until they’re in his office and plopped down on either side of his desk.

 _“Senator Leia Organa,”_ Luke finally admits, a delighted twinkle in his eye at Rey’s resulting gasp. He doesn’t give her a chance to reply before he goes on, his excitement pouring forth. “Well, former Senator I suppose. She retired last term. But to answer your most obvious question: yes, she’s as kind _and_ badass as we all know her to be. And her husband, Han—” he chuckles, resting his temple on his hand as she shakes his head. “Oh, he’s a damn _character_. Still holds the record for fastest solo trip around the world by sailboat, too—not that I imagine it’s a difficult record to maintain. Who the hell wakes up one day and decides they wanna try something so ludicrous?”

As Luke continues to regale her with tales of his newfound relations, Rey feels her heart swell with secondhand bliss. From what she’s gathered, her own grandfather has been his only form of family since Luke was around her age, but as she well knows, nothing compares to the joy of finding blood relatives. Needless to say, getting to witness him find his own family—a _twin sister_ , no less—is heartwarming.

“Okay, okay, so you have the most amazing sister on the planet,” she teases when he _finally_ gives her a chance to respond. He just laughs, rolling his eyes for good measure, but she can sense the pride welling just beneath the surface. “You still haven’t answered my question about Thanksgiving, Professor.”

“Right. Well, all that to say—she said we were all more than welcome to join them at their home in Maryland for the holiday.”

Rey couldn’t have stopped her eyes from bugging if she’d tried. Did he just say _Maryland?_

Luke laughs—has he even stopped? She loves seeing him so happy. “Senator, remember? She said she’d send her jet to pick us up, no questions asked.”

Surely she looks ridiculous, the way she’s just gaping at him like a fish out of water. A _jet?_ God, and here she‘d thought her grandpa was wealthy. Still, it’s… something to think about. As far as she knows, her friends are going home for the holiday, too, and since finals are conducted virtually, there’s no reason she _shouldn’t_ just go along with it….

Right?

“Well, have you spoken with Granddad about any of this yet?” she inquires, anxiously picking at her nails. “Is it safe for him to be traveling so far from home at his age?”

Luke snorts, angling his chair toward his desktop. “Rey, you know as well as I do that Ben Kenobi will do whatever the hell he wants whether we want him to or not.”

“You told him already, didn’t you?”

“I... did,” he admits sheepishly, prompting Rey to straighten up and witness this rare moment of Luke Skywalker discomfiture. He refuses to meet her eyes, instead gazing pointedly out of his office’s clerestory window. “And he may have already asked me to chauffeur you to the tarmac as soon as class lets out Wednesday afternoon.”

Rey rolls her eyes, but it’s more for show than anything. Truth be told, she’s kind of excited for a bit of adventure—and what’s more exciting than taking a _private jet_ to Thanksgiving dinner?

(Okay, not counting her plans for tonight).

Finally, she shrugs, opting to seem indifferent. If Luke knew just how excited she _really_ was, she’d never hear the end of it.

“Right, well, guess I’d better get these last few projects knocked out before then. I’ll see you Wednesday, Dr. S.”

She stands to gather her things and offers him a sarcastic salute in the process, but Luke’s silvery blue eyes appear more amused than she’d anticipated. Shit, can he tell she’s shaking?

“Have a good one, kid,” is his grinning reply, but Rey’s already flying out the door.

For real. Thank _god_ the day’s over.

@:@:@:@:@

It’s still a bit early when she sneaks back to her favorite corner of the library, cradling her phone to her chest. Since most of the student body is busy huddling in study groups upstairs, the lone old chair shoved down behind the stacks is blessedly empty, and she wastes no time curling up on it like a cat on a pile of laundry.

Maybe she should’ve stayed back at the dorm, but after Friday’s little… _faux pax,_ she doesn’t want to be within arm’s reach of the remainder of her moscato. She’d deleted the tweet as soon as she woken up Saturday morning, embarrassed beyond belief to have made such a fool of herself, but by then the damage had been done. She’d been bombarded with a slew of messages ranging from incensed scolding to unsolicited dick pics, so she quickly went private after that.

It wasn’t like Whiskey would ever see it, anyway.

As she makes herself comfortable, she decides to set to work cleaning out her inbox. The sheer number of messages she’s received is truly remarkable, and the fact that very few appear to be trolls is even more so. She reads a few intermittently, steadily growing more and more ashamed when, _finally,_ her 7:00 pm alarm alerts her that the podcast should now be live.

Her thumb trembles as it hovers over the play button, pleading with her to make haste inserting her ear buds, and then it taps the screen.

_“Welcome back, Audiophiles! As some of you may know, our interview schedule experienced quite the upset this week when we received an unexpected message from the king of Soundgasm himself, but we’d be lying if we said we weren’t thrilled. Everyone, say hello to the one and only, Mr. Whiskey Lullaby!”_

A slight pause. Then, the delectable laugh that haunts her every waking moment.

 _“Hey, listeners,”_ Whiskey croons, his voice dripping with confidence. Rey immediately becomes one with the chair under her, wilting into the ragged pleather like a daisy in the sun. _“And thank you guys for having me.”_

 _“Oh the pleasure is all ours,”_ is the second host’s saccharine reply, and Rey’s suddenly jolted from her pleasant little bubble by an overwhelming flash of jealousy. Who do they think they are, flirting with him that way?!

As if they can read her thoughts, the first host is quick to redirect the conversation. _“...Right. So, Whiskey, tell us what got you into the world of audio erotica.”_

The man in question hums for a moment, eliciting memories that make Rey glad she’s not listening to this with Rose _. ”I’m actually not sure I have an exact reason for you, John, aside from the fact that I more or less stumbled upon the genre by accident one day. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what I was_ really _searching for, but this one recording caught my attention and I couldn’t click away. Sorry if this is TMI, but I don’t think I’ve ever come so fast in my life.”_

 _“No, no, I know exactly what you mean,”_ the first host—John—responds. _“It was a pretty similar experience for me as well….”_

Rey zones out a bit as they continue to ask questions and swap stories about their industry. Her muscles steadily loosen each time Whiskey speaks, as if his voice is as inebriating as the drink he’s named for. She tunes back in around the time he mentions his hobbies—reading, hiking, and cooking—and even admits _(shockingly),_ that he’s currently single. In fact, he’s been single for quite a number of years, though he declines to say why. Unsurprisingly, Rey’s heart weighs heavy in her chest at the admission, and she hopes she’s only imagining the sadness in his voice as he asks for the next question.

 _“Time for my_ favorite _question!”_ gushes the second host—a bubbly person named Lisa, Rey’s come to learn. _“All right, Whiskey, do tell—what are your top three favorite sex positions and/or kinks?”_

Rey takes a quick sip from her water bottle, thankful she’d thought to bring it along for this wild ride. _Here comes the part that’s most definitely going to ruin me._

Whiskey laughs, sounding oddly nervous for a man of his confidence. _“Oh god, ummm. That’s a good question—”_

 _“And don’t feel obligated to answer if you aren’t comfortable,”_ Lisa’s quick to add, perhaps in a final moment of clarity. How they’re able to keep their wits about them at all, Rey has no idea. _“It can be as personal or as generic as you want it to be.”_

 _“No, no, it’s fine,”_ Whiskey reassures her, clearing his throat. _“Ummm. I suppose I enjoy a good power imbalance. I’m not opposed to being submissive, but I much prefer being dominant over my partner. God, that sounds so much more barbaric than I mean for it to—”_

Rey takes another, much longer gulp of water. Holy _fuck_ this man is going to destroy her.

_“But, yeah. I guess I just enjoy being in control. Which doesn’t make it sound much better, but fuck, I hope I’m making sense.”_

John comes to his rescue. _“We got you, dude. Dom/sub dynamics are absolutely a legit kink, so long as both parties consent. Anything else you like?”_

_“Thanks, man. Uhhh, I don’t know how to quantify what else I’m into. It mostly just branches off from that power imbalance. Bondage, spanking, edging—but also rewarding my partner for trusting me with that much control. I’d honestly love nothing more than to have a kitten of my own to tease and fuck the way I describe in most of my recordings.”_

Oh _god_ . Just like that, a steady thrumming begins to pulsate between her legs, and if Rey had worried she wouldn’t survive this interview before, there’s certainly no doubt in her mind now. He _will_ be her downfall.

Her assent to cloud nine is interrupted by Lisa’s re-emergence. _“Well, from what we saw on Twitter this weekend, it definitely seems as though you have your pick of the litter,”_ she laughs, followed by some shuffling. _“Anything you’d like to say to your fans?”_

Chuckling, Whiskey is slow to respond. _“Uh, well, I’d just like you all to know how flattered I am by your support. I never intended for this hobby to serve as anything more than a creative outlet, but I’m very glad so many people glean joy from it, too. I’m also sorry I don’t interact much, but I hope you understand just how overwhelming it is—especially for me.”_

Again, Rey feels her heart swell with fondness for the man. God, if only he knew how much happiness he brought his fans just by sharing his talents with the world—

_“Oh, and if you’re listening, kiss_kenobi: marriage seems a bit rash at the moment, but I do hope you’ll settle for a first date.”_

The water she’d been sipping promptly sprays from her lips—something she’s sure she’s never done before in her _life._ It’s one of those goofy reactions that happens in cartoons, not the real world. And that must be what’s happening now: she’s dreaming, and this is all some far fetched fantasy springing forth from the depths of her imagination to torture her.

Yes, that’s all it is. She’s fallen asleep in the library, probably missed Whiskey’s entire interview, and now—

Her phone buzzes erratically, notifying her of an incoming call from Rose. She ignores it, however, in favor of a new notification popping up from Twitter.

_You have 1 new message request from whiskey_lullaby._

It’s the final nail in her proverbial, horny coffin.

Flopping back against the chair, Rey faints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops mic*
> 
> poor rey... poor, poor rey....


	4. garish light of day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again, loves! it's so nice to see you again <3 that said, there are a few new tags i'd like you to be aware of before you proceed:
> 
> DISCUSSION OF DOXXING - if this is a trigger for you, please proceed with caution. i hope the next chapter will move beyond it, but no guarantees. i'll make sure to let you know as soon as it's safe to start reading again!
> 
> DISCUSSION OF EMOTIONAL/PSYCHOLOGICAL/PHYSICAL ABUSE - rey's going to have a few flashbacks to her life before she found her grandpa. these include moments of neglect/abuse at the hand of her foster father, unkar. again, if this is a trigger for you please proceed with caution.
> 
> in general, this chapter isn't too fun, but i felt it was necessary in order to fully establish that these kids are going through some rough stuff. please bear with me and rest assured that the smut will return soon enough!!

_ Oh, Rey. Sweet Rey... Such a good girl for me. Thank you for telling me what you want. _

Floating, falling, Rey can’t quite determine where she exists in space. The world around her is dark, but in a comforting way, like being burrowed beneath a blanket on a cold winter morning. But she’s not alone; Whiskey’s voice curls around her like smoke from a waning fire, beckoning to her from the deepest depths of her desire, tempting her to commit some beautiful sin. It warms her from within like the drink he’s named for, threatening combustion when combined with the sparks in her belly, and the intoxicating sensation only builds as he continues warming her ear.

_ May I now tell you what  _ I  _ want? _

His words drip down along her neck like warm honey wine, making her skin tingle. For some strange reason, Rey finds herself unable to speak, but when she imagines telling him  _ yes, _ he hums as if she’s whimpered aloud.

_ So eager, sweetheart... _

Goosebumps prickle her skin from head to toe, pulling a shiver from her spine.  _ God, _ the things that voice does to her.

_...but you’ll need to be patient if you want to hear what I have in mind. _

_ Please, for the love of  _ god _ just tell me! _ she wants to beg, her breathing growing more and more unstable. The veil of darkness blocking her vision certainly isn’t helping matters, and when he then  _ laughs— _

Well, it’s a good thing she isn’t standing. She’s sure her knees would’ve buckled from under her.

Completely at ease, Whiskey continues.  _ Hmmm. Seems we’ll need to work on your obedience, baby girl. But for now, here’s what I want you to do. _

Is she just imagining it, or does a hand brush the hair from her face? She wants to cry out at the sensation, but her stubborn body remains as unresponsive as ever.

_ First,  _ he murmurs.  _ I want you to wake up. _

Wake up? What is he  _ talking _ about?  _ Why _ would she ever want to wake up from this?

_ Next, _ croons Whiskey, drawing out the word like the notes of some archaic lullaby.  _ I want you to drink some water. _

Drink… some  _ water? _

What?!

_ And then, _ he rumbles against her temple, unphased by her inner confusion. Surely she should be able to reach out and touch him now, but  _ still  _ her limbs refuse to move.  _ Then… I want you to be a good girl… _

Her lungs push out a silent moan, and she swears she can feel Whiskey’s lips moving against the shell of her ear. 

_...and answer… _

A hand grips her shoulder.

... _ my… _

Another hand cradles her face.

_...message. _

The hand on her shoulder abruptly gives a small shake, and Rey’s confusion only doubles. What the actual  _ fuck _ is happening?

_ Rey. Wake up, please.  _ Whiskey says quietly, his rumbling tones fading to a whisper.  _ You need to wake up, Rey, we need to get you home now. _

Home? What does he mean—

“...now, Rey. Come on! Save the damsel in distress shit and let’s get out of here.”

Rey jolts from her dream like a racehorse from the starting gate, her heart hammering a dangerous tattoo against her ribs. Before her, Rose looks on with a strange sort of urgency, gripping Rey’s face and shoulder as if their lives depend on it.

Where did  _ she _ come from?

“Rose…?” Rey rasps, glancing around the darkened library. Only a few emergency lights are on, signaling the impending lock-up. “What time is it?”

“Nearly one in the morning,” is her hurried reply. Groggily, Rey notices her rescuer already has her things under one arm, and her heart swells with even more affection for the tiny girl. “Come on, security’s waiting for us to leave so they can lock the basement.”

Rising in a daze, she lets Rose steer her through the stacks as she wills her mind to clear. She stumbles a bit just as they make it to the top of the stairs, and the security officer gives them a tired look, muttering something about  _ damn kids  _ when she thinks they’re out of ear shot. Neither of them stick around to argue though—they’ve got  _ far _ more important issues to discuss, after all.

“What. The fuck. Was that?!” hisses Rose as they scamper through the cold back to their dorm. The steam from her breath lends her a dragon-like quality, and when combined with her fiery tone, it’s more than a little intimidating. “I thought you said you’d deleted that tweet!”

“I thought I did, too!” Rey insists through chattering teeth. Fuck, it’s getting cold out. She wishes she’d thrown on her thicker coat earlier. “I deleted it as soon as I saw it Saturday morning, I swear!”

Rose groans, kneading between her brows. “Well, regardless, I think you’re gonna wanna delete your account, babe. At least for a month or two until this blows over. Buzzfeed’s already released like six articles about it, I’ve been getting messages, Finn’s been getting messages—hell, even  _ Poe’s _ been getting messages. You’ve officially gone viral, dear. Everyone and their sister wants to know who’s officially gotten Whiskey’s attention.”

“Oh  _ god,”  _ Rey chokes, shaking her head. This can’t be real, right? This is still just some stupid, ridiculous dream that she’s yet to wake up from. It has to be, because if her  _ grandfather _ finds out—

“Hurry  _ up, _ I’m about to turn into a popsicle!” whines Rose as they finally make it into the lobby of their building. The wave of heat that greets them is fucking  _ lovely, _ causing both girls to sigh with relief. Rose wastes no time jabbing a thumb into the elevator button just as Rey finally decides to risk a glance at her phone.

Sure enough, there are more notifications than she can count glaring up at her from the lock screen, and the effect it has on her blood pressure is probably audible. God, this is a fucking  _ disaster! _ For most of her life, Rey had yearned to be more than just another nobody, to have friends and family to call her own—but  _ this? _ Never has she wished for her old life back, but in this moment, she wonders if obscurity is where she should’ve stayed.

As they ride the elevator up to their floor, Rose seems to soften, her exasperation melting away in the wake of Rey’s obvious horror.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, Rey,” she says softly, wrapping her in a hug. “I know it’s a lot, but you know Finn, Poe, and I will help you figure this stuff out. It’s probably just a fluke thing that’ll blow over soon enough, anyway. Just hang in there, girl.”

“Thanks, Rosie,” Rey mumbles against her silky raven hair. “I think I’m just scared that Granddad will find out somehow and disown me out of sheer embarrassment.”

Rose pulls back with a derisive gasp, evidently insulted on Granddad’s behalf. “Rey Kenobi, are you even hearing yourself right now?! Your grandpa loves you more than anything on earth; he would  _ never  _ disown you.”

Rey blinks away from Rose’s adamant gaze, desperate to hold back a few persistent tears. Even after so many years spent living in the company of friends and relatives alike, it’s all too easy for Rey to fall back on those expectations ingrained in her from her life  _ Before _ . Grace and forgiveness weren’t exactly practiced by her last foster parent—a disgusting old fuck named Unkar Plutt—a man who tended to favor starvation and indentured servitude instead of mercy. Even now, she lives with the consequences of his cruelty, forever anticipating abuse in the wake of her mistakes, so despite Rose’s reassurance, it doesn’t quite quell her inner panic.

But Rose, the obstinate little spitfire she is, is wholly unphased by her apprehension. As soon as the elevator admits them to their floor, she tugs Rey along like a child dragging a lifeless kite—it’s obvious she won’t be satisfied until Rey’s flying high in the sky once more.

“Come on, we need a drink,” she declares, squeezing them into their dorm. She immediately makes a beeline for the little kitchen and dives into their designated liquor cabinet like a hellbent homing missile. “Here, I just picked these up yesterday.”

“Uhhh, okay,” Rey responds inelegantly. Rose just hands her an  _ entire _ bottle of moscato as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Am I meant to drink the entire thing?”

“If you want,” hums the oddly chipper girl, shrugging. She flops back on the couch with a bottle of her own, unscrewing it without fanfare. “But for the love of  _ god,  _ turn your phone off first. Or flush it, smash it, toss it out the window—anything to prevent a repeat of Friday.”

Rey can’t help but make a pitiful noise as she sinks onto the opposite end of the couch. Maybe if she visualizes it swallowing her whole, she’ll finally wake up from this nightmare.

“Ugh, I should probably just have some wa— _ oh! _ ”

_ Water, Rey. I want you to drink some water…. _

“What? Water?” Rose asks, capping her wine. “Rey, why are you blushing?”

_ Oh fuck! _

She’d completely forgotten about Whiskey’s message!

“Shit, Rose! Where’s my phone?!”

“It’s right there on the floor where you dropped it; what’s  _ wrong?” _

Rey barely keeps from shattering the bottle of wine as she trades it for her cell. “He—he—he  _ messaged me! _ I completely forgot!”

“He  _ what?!” _ Rose squeaks, sitting ramrod straight in the blink of an eye. “No, no way that’s him, Rey. I’m  _ sure _ it’s just some troll.”

Rey just shrugs, feigning indifference. “Probably. But it can’t hurt to be sure, right?”

Rose wrinkles her nose as Rey opens her poor, overburdened Twitter app. She’s definitely going to delete her account as soon as she checks this message, but she can’t just leave Whiskey in the dark—

“Hey! What was that for?” she gasps as Rose swipes her phone. Without responding, she simply turns it off and sets it aside with a sad sigh, then offers her most apologetic look.

“Babe, I know this is exciting and all, but you need to think before you leap,” she says, reaching out to grasp Rey’s frozen hand in hers. “Say it is him…. Look what he’s done to you! You’re being bombarded by cyber bullies and trash sites and shame. And all for what? So he could generate some buzz for his own sake? He  _ used you, _ babe. That’s fucked up on so many levels, and I don’t think you should play into his hand. Don’t give him the satisfaction; you’re worth more than that.”

As she listens to her best friend say her piece, Rey’s blood turns to ice in her veins. Truthfully, not  _ once _ had she considered the fact that Whiskey had more or less doxxed her during a publicly-posted interview. He only stood to gain from such a bold move, too; no one knows his name, no one knows his face. Rey’s is now  _ everywhere, _ pinning her as the lucky fangirl who won a shoutout from America’s favorite audio pornstar. Oh  _ god! _ What if the school finds out?! She’d been worried about Granddad’s reaction when in fact, UNC Chandrila holds her fate in the balance—

“Rey, look at me,” Rose butts in, grabbing her face to regain her focus. “Don’t spiral again, please. We  _ will _ get you through this, I promise. Just two more days until break, babe. Then you can hide out at home while this all blows over.”

Rey nods between Rose’s tiny, relentless hands, sighing her defeat. “Right. It’ll blow over soon.”

“Right,” Rose says, pressing a kiss to Rey’s forehead. “You’ll be fine, dear.”

Not for the first time over the course of their friendship, Rey is properly overwhelmed by Rose’s kindness, and she inwardly curses that day in the not-so-distant future when they’ll be forced apart by the demands of their careers.

_ That’s life,  _ Unkar would’ve spat at her, his nasty mouth drawn up in a snarl.  _ Ya waste yer time with yer head in the clouds till somethin’ comes along to right ya. Now quit yer daydreamin’ and get a move on—that grass ain’t gonna trim itself. _

For the very first time, Rey wonders if Unkar’s shit philosophy may have had a hint of merit after all.

@:@: **Ben** :@:@

“Wait, wait, wait, wait; you did  _ what _ now?”

“I… did an interview. Regarding my, er...  _ hobby.” _

“No, no, I got that part. Tell me again what you did at the  _ end _ of said interview.”

“I, uh, offered someone a date…? Why are you hung up on that part, specifically?”

“Christ….”

Ben wiggles in his seat, his anxiety spiking higher by the second. Across from him, Phas cradles her face in her hands, inexplicably exasperated. Why is she so upset?

“Benjamin, have you ever heard of ‘doxxing’?” she asks tiredly, dropping her hands to lift an eyebrow at him. “Have you really no idea what you’ve done to this poor girl?”

“Uhhhh…” is his brilliant response, prompting him to drop his gaze in confused shame. “No, I guess I don’t.”

“Well, let me put this plainly. That podcast  _ used _ you, Ben—big time. They knew your interview would land them in the spotlight just by virtue of your popularity, but then you brought this other person into the mix—without their permission, might I add—and now, she’s being exploited by the rest of the internet for it. That was her  _ main account,  _ Ben. You know how I know?”

Ben swallows the lump of nausea blocking his throat and shakes his head. He’s never seen Phasma this incensed, and it’s more than a little intimidating. He honestly hadn’t meant any harm by shouting out kiss_kenobi; surely Phas  _ knows _ that.

“She’s friends with Paige’s little sister. Roommates, as a matter of fact. Paige and I have been giving her advice on how to comfort her since her life got upended after that interview. Little did we know….”

That fast, Ben’s discomfort evolves into full-fledged panic. “Oh my god, are you serious?! Not that I’d feel less guilty if she were still some random person, but— _ god, _ this can’t be real—”

“Ben, look at me,” demands Phas, towering over her desk. “Don’t get so caught up beating yourself up for this that you can’t focus on righting your wrongs. You need to issue an apology somehow, somewhere your followers will hear or see it and take it seriously. Take the attention off of her and let her return to normality.”

Slowly, she shifts back until she’s seated once more, and Ben releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. This talk certainly deviated severely from what he’d hoped it might be. He’d followed her advice, taken a leap of faith he wouldn’t normally have taken. Then he’d let those podcasters trick him into thinking he was invincible, like he could do anything, say anything and the world would fall at his feet. He’d had no mal intent whatsoever when he’d given his “future spouse” a shout out—it was just meant to be fun and exciting, perhaps make a fan feel special.

Little did he know….

“The internet is a wretched place, Ben,” Phas mutters, unknowingly finishing his train of thought. “Well, it has the potential to be used for evil as well as for good, and in this case, your inexperience came back to bite you. I wish you’d talked to me about it first.”

He risks a glance at his friend to find her looking as disappointed as her tone. Perhaps it’s just his own fretting that paints her in a bleak light, but he’d swear her curls seem to droop, her eyes dim, and she sighs a little harder than necessary.

God, he’s really and truly fucked up, hasn’t he?

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, standing. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he darts out of her office and makes a run for the parking lot.

“Ben! Wait, where are you—Ben!” Phas calls after him, but it’s a fruitless endeavor. Not even her longer strides can outpace him in his shame, and he’s already in his car by the time she’s at the front entrance.

_ “Ben!” _ she yells one last time, and then he’s peeling out of the parking lot and onto the rain-dampened highway.

Not for the first time in his miserable life, Ben Solo chooses to run away from his problems.

@:@:@:@:@

“Hello, how can I help you?”

Nervously, Ben approaches the counter. He hadn’t exactly had a plan beyond getting to the airport, and now that he’s here, it’s become glaringly obvious. To buy some time, he clears his throat.

“Uh, I need a ticket, please. To Hosnia.”

“Oh, okay, let me see here…” replies the cheery employee, typing his request into a computer he’s sure must be from the Stone Ages. “Ah, yes, what’s your desired departure date?”

Again, Ben’s resolve wavers. Should he really be doing this? But then the image of Phas’s disappointment flashes in his mind’s eye, and yes, he’s sure—he needs to get away.

“Next available, please. Any class.”

Unsurprisingly, the employee shoots him a look of disbelief, as if to say  _ you’ve  _ got _ to be fucking kidding me…. _

“Um, okay, well in that case—we have a flight boarding in ten minutes, but there’s only availability in first class—”

“That’s perfect. How much?”

Is this person fucking with him, or is Ben just imagining their look of disgust? Either way, they plaster on a fake smile before finally giving him the price—a four-digit number that would probably scandalize most people.

But again, he isn’t like most people.

Without blinking, Ben offers out the sleekest credit card he owns—one he reserves for emergencies such as this—and has the satisfaction of watching the blood drain from their face. They wordlessly process his payment, input his credentials, offer yet  _ another _ odd look at his lack of belongings, and then direct him toward security.

_ Well it’s about fucking time…. _

So caught up in the rush of things, Ben doesn’t have time to second guess his (probably) ill-advised decision. He bites his jaw as TSA agents take their time to clear him, holds his tongue when meandering families get in his way to the terminal, then finally remembers to breathe once he’s on the plane and in his seat without a moment to lose. Through it all, he stays focused on his goal—getting on a damn plane and getting the hell away from the mess he’s made.

Why exactly he’s decided to return to an even bigger mess of problems is anyone’s guess.

He very nearly panics when the realization hits him. How is it that he can keep his cool through recording literal porn, but not when he contemplates seeing his parents?

Desperate for a distraction, he yanks his phone from his pocket and buckles his seatbelt. The flight crew are going through emergency procedures as he follows up on the one detail he never got to mention to Phas.

Sure enough, his message to kiss_kenobi still shows  _ unread, _ and before he can think twice, he starts typing again.

_ “Dear kiss_kenobi….” _

@:@: **Rey** :@:@

**Rosie the Riveting 🌹**

**Message**

**Today 7:47 AM**

Babe… don’t come outside today, pls.

...why?

Just,,,,don’t. I’ll tell ur profs u aren’t feeling well, ok?

ok 😔 ty rosie

💙

————————

Tossing and turning to no avail, Rey sniffles a bit when she realizes sleep still won’t come. Every time she’d drifted off last night, she kept hearing that same voice whispering sweet nothings in her ear, coaxing her to  _ answer me, Rey. Be a good girl and answer my message. You know you want to— _

“Ugh!” she growls, yanking back her covers and snatching her phone from the nightstand. She’s timed it just right, too; the vent above shudders its one and only warning before it dumps its cold air on her, but she’s already moving. She dashes into the bathroom in hopes of at  _ least _ snagging a hot shower. If she can’t have anything else nice today, she prays the universe will at least give her this.

She begins the methodical process of stripping down and starting the water, nearly ignorant to the pile of shit her life has taken a proverbial step in, when—

_ Buzz-buzz! _

A new notification pops up on her phone’s screen, and when she sees who it’s from, she nearly screams.

_ 1 new message request from whiskey_lullaby. _

“Fuck you,” she hisses between sharp-gritted teeth. “Fuck you for doing this to me, you  _ bastard.” _

Rose hadn’t let her look at any of the articles or posts Buzzfeed and other sites had made about her, but Rey hadn’t been able to resist a Google search last night.

_ Soundgasm’s Golden Boy Just Doxxed His ‘Biggest Fan’. _

_ Pornstar whiskey_lullaby Wants to Date His Gasmers. How You Could Be Next! _

_ No One Does Horny Like Drunk Fangirls! _

_ Ten Tweets by @kiss_kenobi That Perfectly Illustrate Stan Culture’s Toxicity. _

Tears blur her vision as she glares down at her poor phone, her shower all but forgotten.

_ This. Has. To stop! _

Before she can think better of it, she taps the notification and braces for whatever lay in store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this can't end well... right??????
> 
> come yell @ me on the twitter: @aquill2thrill


	5. start a journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my loves! long time no see 😭 i can’t apologize enough for taking so long to update this for you, but i hope you’ll accept my humble gratitude for your continued patience 💙
> 
> that said, this chapter is again unbeta’d & mostly angst and plot, but i have high hopes that the next installment will add a little ✨spice✨ 😏 i’m gonna do my best to have another update for y’all before the end of the month!!
> 
> OKAY, i’m shutting up now! just a couple matters of business and i’ll be out of the way:
> 
> 1) ***MORE DISCUSSION OF DOXXING, BULLYING, & CHILDHOOD ABUSE/NEGLECT*** - Rey will again be revisiting bad memories and contemplating her current predicament. if any of these subjects is triggering for you, please proceed with caution, loves
> 
> 2) i noticed too little too late that the timing near the end of last chapter didn’t line up quite right, so i’ve added some time stamps in this update to try and correct it. i hope it’s not too off-putting & i’m sorry i didn’t catch it last time!!
> 
> 3) please PLEASE let me know what y’all think of Chewie. i’m still fanning myself over here 😅
> 
> 4) i know absolutely nothing about Tendra Risant Calrissian aside from the fact that she’s listed as Lando’s wife in EU canon. i basically just made her into the character i needed her to be for this little fic, but i imagine her being somewhat similar to Maz Kanata :)
> 
> ...aaaaand i think that’s it! please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think 💙

**Wednesday, Nov. 25, 2020**

It’s strange, Rey realizes distractedly, squinting up at the tv screen overhead.

The quaint airport restaurant in which she and Luke have settled as they await their borrowed plane is quiet, and under different circumstances, she might even consider it… peaceful. From her perch on the edge of the worn booth seat, Rey warily watches the tired monitor display an ad for some obscure brand of expensive-looking alcohol, and before she can stop it, her knee starts to bounce.

In the next moment, a scantily clad woman flashes onto the screen, cradling a bottle of the dark liquid, and for a second, Rey sure she’s about to make out with it. But then the scene changes, presenting viewers with a gleaming, impressive bottle of the stuff— _whiskey—_ and its then she realizes she’ll never be able to get the thought of him or his stupid, addictive voice out of her head for as long as she—

“Hey, kid,” grunts Luke, clearing his throat. His spoon chases a slice of lemon around his glass of ice water for a beat, and the metal tinkling helps break up her unwelcome thoughts—but not the knot forming between her eyebrows. “You okay?”

Rey holds back a snort. The absolute _absurdity._ “Yeah, I’m fine,” she lies cooly. Now is _not_ the time for this conversation. “Just ready to get on the plane and see Granddad.”

There. It’s at least a _half truth._ None the wiser, Luke hums in agreement, absently stirring his water. She still isn’t sure of the extent to which he knows about _The Incident,_ as she and her friends have come to call the shitstorm that’s been the past couple of days. To say it’s been _wholly_ _overwhelming_ would be an understatement, and the cyber bullying wasn’t even the worst of it.

No, that came Tuesday morning—just twenty-four hours ago—when Rose had all but _begged_ her to stay home for the day. At some point in the night, most of their hallway had been plastered with notes and posters all informing Rey of her more... _outspoken_ peers’ thoughts on her behavior, as well as where she could _shove_ her embarrassing fixations.

Maybe it had been a bad idea to look after Rose had ordered her not to, but she‘d just _had_ to know what was being said—as usual, she let her curiosity get the best of her. She’d snuck a peek as Rose and Finn were stuffing garbage bags full of red tissue paper from an enormous letter A some asshole had _glued_ to the wall directly across from their door.

_Whore!_ one note had practically shouted, straight to the point. It had stung, sure, but with all the sharpness of a blunt fingernail against her skin. _How very eloquent,_ she’d thought dismissively, rolling her eyes for good measure.

_What the fuck is wrong with you!?_ exclaimed another, written in what appeared to be bright red lipstick on some cheap poster board. This one had nearly elicited a self-deprecating laugh. _If only I knew._

Then, finally, the one taped right next to their door:

_Hey little slut! You can call me daddy any time—_

_“Rey, no!”_ Rose had screeched then, more panicked than angry. Finn had simply looked on, the defeat lending a tiredness to his usual burnished glow. He wasn’t even dressed in his trademark business casual, but instead was slumped against the wall in a plain sweatsuit Rey had never seen.

_This is serious,_ a much smaller, far more fearful voice had whispered in the back of her mind—one she thought she’d banished for good. It echoed against the dark, dank walls doomed to haunt her forever in the way only traumatic childhood experiences can. If she’d been able to breathe in that moment, if her lungs hadn’t been seized by the frigid grip of dread, she’s sure she would’ve smelled the loamy, moldy stench of Plutt’s pitch black basement. _You’re gonna be in so much trouble when he finds out. You won’t get to eat for a week—_

Perhaps it was this thought, or perhaps it was the sound of Rose’s reprimand that finally broke through the wall of indifference she’d so carefully constructed in the hours since her new normal had gotten turned on its head. But by the time Rose had stomped over to the doorway to shoo her back inside, Rey had already disappeared back the way she came, her eyes stinging with unshed tears until finally, _finally,_ she could hide behind her bedroom door and face-plant onto the comforter and—

It was that asphyxiating type of sobbing, the kind that makes ribs cry out in pain. The kind that rends throats raw, inflames the face, seems impossible to stop—

Until it does.

And that’s where Rey sits now, somewhere between the tarmac and utter defeat. The hot cocoa caught in her grasp has long since cooled in the time she and Luke have spent waiting for the private jet that will finally bring her face to face with Grandpa Ben. It’s been roughly three months since she last saw him in person, and while FaceTiming is nice, she really just wants to see him in the flesh right now. 

_Bloody hell_ , she supposes, nearly laughing, nearly crying. _At least that’s one good thing about the mess I’ve made—the timing couldn’t have worked out any better._

As her mind wanders aimlessly over the modern marvel of video chat, her subconscious slowly sneaks back to the message she’d vowed never to think of again—certainly not within just a couple days of receiving it, at the very least.

_“Hello, Reysist—or should I call you kiss_kenobi? I hope you’ll tell me once you see this. I’d like to be able to address you properly in the future….”_

The way she all but leaps from her seat is anything but elegant, but she doesn’t give Luke a chance to question her.

“Gotta use the restroom,” she says as an afterthought, probably too low for him to hear, but she doesn’t bother clarifying. She folds her arms tight to her chest as she dances around empty tables along her way to the ladies’ room, doing her best to flee the thoughts plaguing her better senses.

She can no longer allow this to continue.

But how the _hell_ is she supposed to answer him exactly? The curt written apology he’d sent following that weird faceless video message had made it abundantly clear—he really had no idea what he’d done to her during that podcast.

Was she now being uselessly petty by choosing not to respond?

At first, Rey had wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he really _was_ that oblivious. But her tears have long since run dry, and the expression reflected back to her in the mirror appears anything but forgiving. If nothing else comes of her indefinite silence, she hopes he’ll at least think twice before doxxing another fan—though his evident cluelessness doesn’t exactly earn her vote of confidence, either.

A quick splash of cool water brings her back to reality, and then she’s headed back to the dining room, back to the cramped corner booth facing the cursed tv screen, back to her favorite esoteric professor who welcomes her with an unexpected grin.

What is expected, however, is the quiet chuckle he huffs at her expense. Slowly, one sweater-clad arm offers up his phone for her perplexed inspection.

“Our ride’s here, kid.”

@:@:@:@:@

“Audrey!”

“Grandad!”

The frigid wind of late November stings her eyes as she runs at a dead sprint towards her Grandpa Ben—though it’s definitely not the only reason her vision’s blurred by the time she reaches him. His quiet laughter is a balm to her soul, and it immediately rekindles memories of late nights spent playing cards or reading by the fire. When they finally _do_ part, she tries not to notice the way his graying hair has faded to white since she last saw him, and she refuses to acknowledge the cane he’s newly acquired.

Life’s capacity for unkindness never ceases to astound her—especially in the midst of joyous occasions.

“It’s so nice to be together again!” Granddad’s saying as he leads her and Luke into the cabin, blissfully unaware of her own inner turmoil. _But it’s probably for the best,_ she supposes, _given his age._ He deserves to enjoy these rare moments of happiness with nearly ninety years weighing heavy on his frame. “You kids aren’t going to _believe_ the inside of this thing.”

As they file into the belly of the huge metal beast, Rey looks anywhere but at his rickety steps—and stops short at the sight before her.

The exterior of the plane appeared sleek enough to her untrained eye, but the inside is….

_Unreal._

Captain’s chairs upholstered with cream-colored leather line the smooth, clean sidewalls, each of them separated by a dark wooden table that easily costs more than UNC’s annual tuition—each. Thick, plush carpets tempt her boot-trapped toes to dig in, and large tv screens inhabit opposing corners, promising an ideal viewing experience no matter which seat the passengers choose.

“‘Wow’ is right, kid,” snorts a mirthful Luke, stepping around her to hand their luggage off to an attendant. He’ll definitely be giving her shit about this for the foreseeable future, but she can’t even bring herself to care. “But I do think it’s recommended you pick a seat before takeoff.”

“Indeed, Master Luke is right, Miss Kenobi,” adds the attendant—a nervous-looking gentleman bedecked in the stereotypical trappings of a butler. He doesn’t appear to be much younger than Granddad, she thinks, but he makes quick work of stowing their luggage even as he continues to insist Rey take a seat— _any seat she likes._ “General Organa would never forgive me if I allowed one of her guests to be injured on my watch! But—oh, where are my manners?—if there’s anything I can get for you, Miss Kenobi, my name is Threepio. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance!”

As she awkwardly stuffs herself into the seat farthest from Luke—who’s currently preening over his newfound title, no less—Rey accepts the man’s handshake as best she can.

“Same here, Mr. Threepio. I don’t suppose you know how long it’ll take us to get to Hosnia today?”

“About an hour and a half, give or take,” rumbles a new voice, barging in just as Mr. Threepio draws breath to speak. They both turn in the direction of this interruption—and Rey’s unable to hold back a quiet gasp at what she sees.

A man who can only be their pilot waltzes out of the cockpit like he owns the place, but he’s certainly the farthest thing from _private jet pilot_ she could’ve imagined.

He’s forced to stoop a bit as he lopes toward them in two huge strides, and she can’t help but stare at the way he has to awkwardly shimmy between the two tables just to fit past them. Not only is he absolutely _enormous,_ but he sports an equally huge beard—a style straight out of the Viking series Rose likes to watch _for_ _the plot._

Okay, and maybe Rey likes it just a little bit, too.

_God, poor Rose would be foaming at the mouth right now…._

“Hey there, miss,” he says as he finally sidles up alongside Mr. Threepio, slinging a giant arm over the much smaller man’s frail shoulders, effectively winding him. “Name’s Charles Barker, but you can call me Chewie.”

A bear paw of a hand offers her her second handshake of the day, and she forces herself to think about Ackbar’s asinine paper to avoid taking pervy mental notes to relay to Rose later.

“Charles, that is no way to behave—”

“Oh, lighten up, Threepio! Certainly ain’t every day I get pretty girls on this ole bird—I just want her to feel at home.”

Rey can’t help but smile at their bickering; it’s obvious they’ve worked together for quite some time. “It’s okay, Mr. Threepio. Thank you, Chewie.”

“Don’t mention it, darlin’,” croons the pilot, and oh, she’s definitely recounting that to Rose over FaceTime tonight. She feels her cheeks warm ever so slightly at his roguish grin, and apparently that’s when Mr. Threepio decides he’s had _enough._

“Very well, Charles, let’s allow Miss Kenobi to settle in for the flight, yes?” He shoves against the mountain of a man with all the effectiveness of a light gale. “Get yourself to the cockpit this instant, you big oaf! Go—go on then!”

Chewie just laughs, a proud, hearty sound that flashes a set of white teeth, and after a quick wink at Rey, returns the way he came.

Mr. Threepio looks as scandalized as she should probably feel, and plies her with apology after apology that she politely waves off. Though she would never admit it aloud, Chewie’s harmless flirtations are a welcome distraction from the fresh hell her life has lately endured, and it’s this thought that continues to plague her even as the plane leaves the ground in a smooth ascent into the atmosphere. She wastes no time plugging her earbuds into her ears and starting up her study playlist, but perhaps the classical notes are just a tad too fitting for this time and place. Instead of focusing into the blaring blue light of her laptop screen, Rey finds herself unable to look away from the late morning light streaming in through the window on her left, at the clouds dissolving around the shape of General Organa’s jet as it carries her away from all the problems she’d prefer not to think on for at least a few days of precious reprieve.

~

Across the cabin, two of her favorite people steal concerned glances in her direction, but in the subtle way that only parental figures can. The girl in their sights does not notice, nor does she hear the hushed tones in which they speak of her over a long-overdue game of dejarik, so caught up is she in trying to forget the rumbling, intoxicating tones of another voice at once so familiar and yet so unknown.

**@:@:Ben:@:@**

**Tuesday, Nov. 24, 2020**

How it’s possible for six and a half hours to feel at once like a lifetime _and_ like the blink of an eye, Ben has no idea.

From his lonesome seat in first class, Ben Solo has steadily whittled away at his phone’s battery until naught but a few percentage points remain, at which point he shoves it into his pocket to preserve what little juice is left. Tracking down a suitable hotel and a means by which to _get_ to said hotel have to take precedence over refreshing his private messages to kiss_kenobi, especially since it seems she has no plans to respond to him anytime soon.

_And why the fuck would she?_ begs his inner voice, incredulous as ever. _You’re a goddamn creep who called her out on the World Wide Web, asshole! If she_ does _decide to speak to you, you’ll be lucky if she only tears you to pieces...._

As his head lolls forward into his clammy hands, Ben wonders for the umpteenth time what on earth possessed him to make such a foolish, careless statement about a complete stranger. He _could_ tell himself he’d just wanted to impress the podcasters, but they were happy enough just to have him on their show. Perhaps it was the heady rush of confidence that came from assuming his online persona—that of a fearless, cocksure man who’d never met a challenge he couldn’t swiftly overpower.

But even that wasn’t entirely true, was it? That interview had been about the man _behind_ the mask, even if it hadn’t revealed him by name. He’d answered truthfully, reveling in the rush that came from being seen on such an enormous scale. He’d felt like the Phantom, Erik, as he’d wooed Christine from beneath a shroud in the opening scene of his sultry play from _The Phantom of the Opera—_ Leia’s favorite musical.

And like the doomed Phantom, he’s been left with nothing short of misery to show for it.

Entangled in his churning thoughts, Ben doesn’t even hear the attendants announce their descent into Hosnia, nor does he feel the brunt of their landing. Nausea has crept up the back of his throat as he’s battled his amassed guilt for dominance, and it’s not until the plane has regurgitated the majority of its own burden that he registers a warm hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

Slowly, so as not to disturb the burbling in his gut any more than absolutely necessary, he looks up—

—and promptly pales.

“Hey, kid,” chuckles the dark skinned man standing over him, looking much older in his pilots’ regalia than Ben recalls from years gone by. His graying mustache quirks with the slope of his lip as he offers a bemused grin. “Long time no see.”

Just like that, Ben’s five years old again, staring up into the kind eyes of his dad’s best friend—his uncle, for all intents and purposes.

Lando Calrissian.

@:@:@:@:@

“Really threw me for a loop when I saw your name pop up on the manifest, kid, lemme tell ya!” Lando’s saying as he and Ben wind their way through the disorienting foot traffic of Hosnia International Airport. Not for the first time, Ben’s thankful he didn’t inherit his mother’s height, or he’d most definitely be lost right now. At his side, his uncle continues, animated as ever. “Not gonna lie—your folks asked me awhile back to keep an eye out for you, to let them know if I ever saw your name on my list.”

Without missing a beat, Ben groans. Of _course_ they would.

“Don’t worry, hotshot—I didn’t turn you in!” Lando assures him, though the glint in his eyes does little to calm his skeptical nephew. “Look, I figure so long as _one_ of us knows you’re alive and well, the rest is up to you. That said….”

He produces a smartphone from an inner pocket of his flight coat and immediately grins at what he finds.

“Ah-ha! Just as I expected.”

As the silence drags on, so too does Ben war against his own descent into madness. Still, he tries his best to keep his tone calm and respectful in spite of it. “What?”

“Marching orders from your dear Aunt Tendra. She’s already got the guest room fixed up for you.”

Even as his uncle types out a quick response, Ben’s fumbling for a polite way to decline their generosity. “No, no, I couldn’t possibly—”

Lando’s brow furrows, his aged timbre taking on a stern bent. “You most certainly will, young man. I’m not about to take ‘no’ for an answer. Tennie would lock me out of the house if I left you to your own devices!”

“Uncle Lando, I’m a grown man—”

“Who needs a place to sleep tonight if I’m not mistaken? Maybe a hot meal, a game of sabacc—unless you’re afraid of losing to an old man, that is.”

It shouldn’t be possible, he thinks, the way the friendly challenge lodges into his brain. _It’s the Solo in you,_ his mother would say, wholly disregarding her own competitive nature. _Someone says ‘you can’t’ and you won’t rest until you prove them wrong. How else do you think your father convinced me to marry him?_

“Well? What’ll it be, hotshot?”

In the end, Ben tells himself it’s just the nostalgic way in which his uncle refers to him by his childhood nickname, especially combined with the guilt he’d feel were he to turn them down. Hell, maybe he just wants to be absolutely sure Uncle Lando doesn’t blow his cover until he can be certain he actually wants to see his parents.

Whatever the reason, Ben’s just grateful he doesn’t feel like puking anymore. He nods, resigning himself to his fate, and lopes after Uncle Lando in much shorter strides than those of a lifetime ago.

@:@:@:@:@

“Bennie!”

“Hey, Aunt Tennie.”

An aged though no less jovial version of his aunt wraps him into her warm embrace, and for a brief moment, Ben’s sure she’s going to snap him in half. “My _god,_ you’re enormous! What on earth do they feed you out in California?! You’ve turned into a redwood yourself!”

“Nice to see you, too,” he grits out, not daring to pull away first. If Webster were to place a picture next to its entry of _doting,_ Ben’s certain none other than Tendra Risant-Calrissian would be placed beside it. “How’ve you been?”

The tiny blonde woman finally releases him, allowing him a blessed lungful of air. “Oh, same old, same old! Stars, it’s so nice to see you again after all these years, Bennie!” She doesn’t wait for a response—hardly waits for him to catch his breath—before she’s tugging him off the front stoop and into their home, and it’s only then she notices his odd lack of belongings. “Wait—where’s your luggage?”

“Uhhh, funny you should ask—”

Behind him, Lando snorts, unable to stop himself from interrupting as he sidesteps Ben to greet his wife.

“Let’s just say we need to make a quick run to the mall, my love.”

~

As the afternoon fades into evening, Ben’s shoulders are seen to steadily relinquish more and more of their long-hoarded tension. His uncle had worried their run for necessities might leave him even more stressed than when he’d initially found him—a pale face with a bit too much green around the edges. But, true to his word, the boy was now a man— _all grown up_ —more than capable of taking care of himself and fulfilling the roles society expected of him.

It’s this fact that continues to puzzle Lando Calrissian even as they return home in time for dinner. It nags at him when they settle in for a few friendly rounds of sabacc and the boy’s dark eyes grow dim when his uncle off-handedly inquires about his love life. It eats at him when Ben eventually begs off for bed and Lando rejoins Tendra in the den once she’s wished their nephew a goodnight.

_If he’s so sure footed,_ the older man muses privately, curving one edge of his mustache around a calloused fingertip, _then_ _why the_ fuck _does he look so lost?_


	6. tremulous and tender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lovelies 🥰 so for starters, this chapter is a bit different from previous installments. it’s written entirely in Ben’s POV bc the next chapter will (most likely) be only Rey’s 😁 i hope it’s not too off putting, but there was just a lot of info i needed to touch on in order to get the story back on track! thank you all SO MUCH for your incredible comments, and i can’t wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter! 😍
> 
> (friendly reminder that the meeting is SO CLOSE 🤩🤩🤩)

****

* * *

****

**Gwen Phasma**

**Nov. 25, 2020, 2:17 AM**

BEN SOLO I AM GIVING YOU 24 HOURS TO CONTACT ME BEFORE I REACH OUT TO YOUR PARENTS

Please Ben. Paige and I are worried sick. Please respond, even if it’s just an ‘ok’ or thumbs up or something.

Benjamin

Please

I am begging you. As your friend. As your best friend. What can I do to convince you to respond?

We haven’t slept, Ben. Please answer me, or text Paige if that’s less pressure.

I won’t call your parents if you respond to me within the next couple of hours. I suspect I know where you are, and if so I realize you may be asleep. Please, please text me back as soon as you see this.

* * *

When he comes-to on the morning before Thanksgiving, Ben finds he’s in a much better place mentally than he has been in a few days. Sure, he’s still just barely treading water, but it’s a vast improvement over where he was just twenty-four hours ago—quite literally indulging his flight response. It would seem spending the afternoon and evening with his aunt and uncle had helped far more than he’d anticipated, so much so that he finds he’s no longer frozen in terror over the mere _thought_ of replying to Phasma. The moment he realizes this, he shoots her a quick response.

A reply appears almost instantly.

* * *

****

**Today 7:26 AM**

Hey Phas. Sorry to frighten you. In Hosnia for the holiday. Talk soon.

BEN

OH THANK GOD

Thank you SO MUCH for answering me! We’re so so relieved to hear you’re okay.

I can’t tell you how sorry I am for how I reacted to the interview aftermath. I let my emotions get the best of me, and you didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Please forgive me.

* * *

_Please forgive me._

It’s this phrase that lodges into his brain even as he reassures her that there are no hard feelings, that he doesn’t hold her responsible for his poor reaction, either; even as he sends them his love and promises that he’ll get back to them as soon as Thanksgiving has wrapped up, once he’s on his way back to Naboo.

Forgiving Phas for the tumult of their latest conversation was never a matter of _if_ but _when_ in Ben’s mind, and certainly not just because he was equally at fault—if anything, he was more so. Of all the people in his life who have come and gone, Phas is one of the few who’s stayed—or at least from the moment they met in undergrad—and besides, he has her to thank for helping kiss_kenobi in the wake of his unforgivable stunt.

Which reminds him: he has a public apology to write.

Even with bile stinging the back of his throat, he knows he needs to eat something if he plans on concentrating at all today, so he heaves himself up from the bed with a groan. The Calrissian’s guest room is a bit smaller than he remembers—he has just enough room to squeak between the dresser and the full-size bed to get to his new suitcase in the corner—but then again, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t stayed here since he was a boy, back when the world used to be so much bigger. Now, as then, Ben cautiously avoids the array of fragile, priceless trinkets adorning the dresser and the walls as he changes into a new sweater and jeans from last night’s mall trip, but he nearly way-lays a ceramic figurine with an unsteady arm when he hears a familiar, hearty laugh issue from the main part of the house—one that decidedly does _not_ belong to his aunt or uncle.

Forcing some air into his stunned lungs, Ben ventures from his room and follows the nostalgic sound as it wafts down the hall on a cloud of dark roast coffee. He’d hoped he’d have more time to prepare before facing this next blast from his past, but it would seem the universe is still hellbent on making his impromptu trip homeward as overwhelming as possible. He focuses instead on counting his steps with each protest of the antique hardwood, an audible march back in time. _One, two, three, four, five—_

A journey that used to take him a dozen or more steps now requires only half that, but the result is much the same. Aunt Tendra still sits at her same seat at the breakfast table—right where he and Uncle Lando had played several intense rounds of sabacc last night—munching on her cereal as she scrolls through her phone. Her husband stands at the counter closest to Ben, carefully pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee so as not to splatter any on his pajamas. He waits until he’s replaced the pot to shoot Ben a knowing smile.

Because there, standing with his back to Ben as he rummages through the fridge, is his other _uncle_ —the only other man Han Solo’s ever trusted.

As if on cue, he turns, offering Ben a familiar wry grin. “Hey there, ace,” Uncle Chewie says through a bite of apple. “It’s been awhile.”

@:@:@:@:@

It takes Ben longer than he’d care to admit to unglue his feet from the cold tile and approach his father’s closest friend: a rather enormous, scruffy man known as Charles Barker—or, more belovedly _, Chewie_ —but when he finally does, it takes everything in him just to keep his feet _beneath_ him.

How he manages to look so _young_ for a man of fifty, Ben’s not sure, although his ever-impressive beard now sports several strands of gray that definitely weren’t there when Ben had left for the Skywalker Estate some ten years prior. His eyes haven’t changed, though—still that same color of chocolate tinted with mischief—and it’s this realization that finally pulls Ben out of his silent stupor. To the surprise of everyone involved—himself most of all—Ben wraps Chewie in a long-overdue hug, drawing a gasp from the older man that makes his own greeting more than a little watery.

“Hey, Uncle Chewie,” he mumbles, finally easing up on his vice grip. His uncle grins from ear to ear, gripping Ben’s shoulders hard enough to hurt. But nothing compares to the pang of guilt that guts him when he notices all the new wrinkles lining Chewie’s eyes—physical reminders that time waits for no man. To think he’s wasted _ten whole years_ being a recluse, trying to hurt his parents the same way they’d hurt him, when he should’ve been _here_ instead, making the most of his time with his family—

“Glad you’re back now, Ben,” his uncle says quietly, as if he can sense his inner turmoil. “We’ve missed you more than you know, ace.”

Well he certainly doesn’t trust his voice now. Ben just nods and tries to smile through the wave of guilt trying to drown him, and he lets Chewie hug him again until Aunt Tendra insists they get something to eat.

“Here, Bennie! We still have your favorite!” she says excitedly, pouring him a huge bowl of his favorite cereal from childhood, a brand sugary enough to make adult Ben cringe, but he’ll be damned if he denies his aunt the simple kindness of gratitude. He douses it with milk as he takes the seat opposite hers and digs in before he can overthink it.

_Ugh, maybe I can make our breakfast tomorrow…._

“So, ace,” Chewie begins, cramming himself into the chair beside Ben’s. It gives an ominous _creak_ but otherwise does an impressive job holding its own. “What brings you back to town? Not that we aren’t happy to have you, I mean—”

Ben swallows. He’d expected this. “No, no, I know it’s… weird.” It’s decidedly _more_ than weird but his jet-lagged brain isn’t firing on all cylinders just yet. He’s left chasing his thoughts as his spoon chases his cereal around the bowl. “I’m really not sure, to be honest. Just figured it was time.”

There. That’s a reasonable enough answer, right? Can’t a guy just wanna come home when the time is right?

If his aunt and uncles are unimpressed by his non-answer, it doesn’t show. Lando just gives his mug a test sip as Tendra leans in with her elbows on the table, hands clasped above her empty bowl with a polite smile. Chewie’s eyebrows disappear into his hair as he runs a hand down his beard, considering.

“S’pose that’s reason enough.” Then, to Lando: “How’d the flight go yesterday? I’m hoping we have a clean one today.”

What? Chewie’s flying today? Ben tries to hide his curiosity behind another spoonful of cereal as Lando nods.

“Clear skies most of the way. Hit a little rough patch around Memphis, but we rode it out alright.” Here, he winks at Ben as if he remembers even a _millisecond_ of that flight. “Where’d you say you were headed?”

Chewie grins. “Takodana, Florida. Then Chandrila, North Carolina. Picking up some guests for dinner tomorrow.”

Dinner guests? From _Florida?_ He doesn’t put it past his mother to invite any number of _special guests_ to dinner, but to _Thanksgiving?_ It was actually one of a few days each year Ben could be sure he’d get to see his parents, aunts, and uncles—Leia always kept things intimate and casual for the holidays. To think she’s opened it up now….

The gut-wrenching thought rears its ugly head before he can stop it.

_Is she trying to replace me?_

“Who is it?” Ben mutters, aiming for disinterest but sounding far more hurt than he’d meant to let on. He stares determinedly into his cereal bowl as his relatives share a knowing look. Eventually, Chewie clears his throat.

“Can’t recall names off the top of my head—that’s Threepio’s job. But I wanna say it’s an older gentleman, his son, and his granddaughter.”

Chewie waggles his scruffy brows at the mention of the _granddaughter,_ prompting a chuckle from Lando, an eye roll from Tendra, and silence from his nephew.

_Well. Seems his days spent chasing women are far from behind him…._

A gentle nudge from Chewie’s elbow jars Ben free from his brooding thoughts. “Why don’t you come with me, ace? I ain’t got a co-pilot today; Han’s staying behind to help your mom get the house ready.”

“Hey, that’s a great idea!” Lando chimes in, pressing a kiss to Tendra’s cheek as she takes his empty mug and her bowl to the sink. “Damn, I could’ve used you yesterday, hotshot; that new recruit, Mitaka—he’s a fucking headache. You still remember how to fly, don’t you?”

Ben looks between his uncles like a deer in headlights. He hasn’t flown since before he left for California; it had reminded him too much of all he was leaving behind. Now his heart races at the mere _thought—flying_ with Uncle Chewie? Just like old times?

It’s at that moment his phone chooses to vibrate in his pocket, and with that comes the unwelcome reminder that he’s already got plans for the day; his apology to kiss_kenobi has to come first.

Ben finally shakes his head, swallowing back his defeat. “Sorry, Uncle Chewie. I—uh—have a letter to write.”

“Ha! A _letter?”_ Chewie cackles, Lando joining in. The former lays a good hearted pat to the center of Ben’s back, but in typical Uncle Chewie fashion, he forgets his strength; it winds his nephew upon impact. “What year is it, 1920? Or—oh god, wait a minute—it’s for a woman, isn’t it?”

_Goddamn it._ Ben feels his face heat against his will, and of course, his uncles eat it up. He refuses to look up from his near-empty cereal bowl as they share a belly laugh at his expense.

“My god, ace, that’s fucking adorable,” sputters Chewie, wiping his eyes. His voice is all fucked up, too, like he’s on the verge of actual tears. Lando wipes his own away with the neck of his shirt. “Oh man… tell you what. Why don’t you bring your _quill_ and _parchment_ on the damn plane with you? I can manage well enough on my own, but I’d appreciate the company if you’d be kind enough to oblige me.”

God, he really hasn’t changed at all—still poking fun at Ben’s (admittedly peculiar), hobbies; so what if he’d taken a few calligraphy courses in undergrad? Though of course he doesn’t have an _actual_ letter to write today, there’s no way in _hell_ he’s about to confess his most recent _odd hobby_ to his uncles. Besides, people still write letters, right?

Whatever the case may be, Ben finds himself nodding before he can think better of it. “Sure, Uncle Chewie, I can do that.”

This earns him another lung-crushing pat on the back. “Hell yeah, ace! Let’s get this show on the road!”

@:@:@:@:@

Such is how Ben finds himself returning to Hosnia International Airport less than a day after he’d arrived. The ride over hadn’t been terrible; he’d been quick to shove his nose in his phone to stave off any further attempt at awkward conversation with his uncle, and for the most part, it had worked. Chewie had likewise been focused on swerving through the insane holiday traffic, so for once in his life, Ben had found himself thankful for the inconvenience.

Before long, however, they’d glided through the back gate—stopping just long enough for Chewie to present the guard with their credentials—and then onward towards the private hangars.

“Been awhile, huh, ace?” Chewie remarks quietly. He brings his SUV to a stop outside their designated hangar and snaps his seatbelt off. “Still buzzin’ around in the same ole bird, though.”

“The Legacy 500?” Ben remembers it well. It was the best part of attending Leia’s political events. “I thought for sure she would’ve sprung for something... _bigger_ by now.”

“As much as I’ve _begged_ her to,” groans his towering uncle, rubbing his neck, “she and your old man insist on keeping the damn thing.”

Ah. Of course they would. He’s pretty sure he has this plane to thank for his _existence_ , after all.

As they enter the hangar and are greeted by the sleek mid-size Embraer jet, however, Ben finds he’s less scandalized by that fact and more… in awe of the thing. Sure enough, it’s just as magnificent as the day it came off the assembly line, but it’s the silver bird of prey painted on its side that reminds him that this is the one and only _Millennium Falcon,_ a name still just as ridiculous as it was the day Han christened it.

Yet as he runs his hand over the smooth surface, Ben finds himself smiling—a genuine one, one that takes over his entire face—for the first time in… well, quite awhile. His uncle disappears into the cabin presumably to give him a moment, and for that he’s grateful. Revisiting his past has gone better than he could’ve ever anticipated, but as the past couple of days have shown, he still struggles with processing an over-abundance of emotion at once.

And _damn,_ the amount of emotion he has in regard to this plane….

“Oh—oh my. Is—is that—”

“Don’t have a cow, Threepio, it’s just Ben.”

Without warning, Ben’s ensnared yet again in another familiar embrace. “Master Ben! Bless my soul, it’s so wonderful to see you again—!”

Ben returns Threepio’s hug with a pat he hopes isn’t too impolite, but he’s far more concerned with the fact that the man just referred to him as _Master Ben_. “Good to see you, too, Threepio, but, uh, please don’t call me that—”

“—were so worried! You’ve been gone for _so_ long and I was growing impatient to see you again—”

Threepio continues along on his broken rant as if Ben had never spoken, and from his perch atop the plane’s stairway, Chewie offers a mirthful shrug. Threepio has always been particularly nervous—especially concerning Ben’s safety whenever Han and the uncles were saddled with babysitting duty—and it would seem that trait has only strengthened in Ben’s absence.

He’s finally forced to gently push Threepio back, but he holds the older man steady by his shoulders. “I missed you, too, Threepio, but can you _please_ just call me Ben? You’re family as much as Chewie and Lando are.”

“Very well, er, _Ben...jamin,”_ he replies, obviously warring with his lifelong training—though Ben’s _positive_ he’s not once referred to his father as _master;_ Han would sooner die. At the sound of his whole name coming from Threepio, though, Ben’s transported back in time once more; he hasn’t heard the man call him _Benjamin_ since before he left. “My apologies, but old habits die hard you see, and—”

Ben can’t help but laugh; _oh, Threepio._ “That’s fine, Threepio, just anything but _Master Ben.”_ He makes a face.

Threepio has obviously picked up on the Solo’s disdain for flashy titles; he actually _rolls his eyes._ “I’d expect nothing less from the son of Han Solo.” Then, waving him towards the stairs: “Come along, then, we best be on our way. We don’t want to be late in collecting our guests of honor!”

_Oh yeah._ So enthralled had he been at the prospect of joining Uncle Chewie in the cockpit, Ben had completely forgotten the actual _reason_ for their flight today. He draws a breath to ask Threepio who exactly these _guests of honor_ are just as Chewie calls for him from within the Falcon.

_It’s fine,_ he decides. _I’ll ask once we’re in the air._

@:@:@:@:@

Ben soon learns that flying returns to him not unlike riding a bike, and even when his memory fails him, his hands seem to take on a mind of their own, embracing the controls like old friends. Chewie ribs him a few times for his skill untarnished by time, but when Ben only continues to brush him off, he eventually settles himself with the assurance that, “Ah, well, I’m not surprised—it’s in your genes, ace.”

Ben’s confident _piloting_ _a flying machine_ is not a feature of the human genetic code, but he’s not about to argue. If it means Chewie will give him a moment to hear himself think, he’s happy to leave that discussion for another day.

Their smooth takeoff follows them into a clear, cerulean sky, and Ben couldn’t have kept the smile off his face if he’d tried. He hadn’t been able to enjoy yesterday’s flight, so worried he’d been over the kiss_kenobi situation. Even now, the thought of creating an adequate apology is mentally overwhelming enough to paint his brow in a fine sheen of sweat, enough to make his heart thump unevenly in his chest. Perhaps that’s why he finds himself tracking the movement of his uncle’s hand as the man reaches to adjust a little photo at the center of the dashboard—anything to distract himself from the anxiety roiling in his gut.

Chewie senses his curious gaze and removes the photo from its clip to hold it up for his nephew’s inspection. “She goes with me everywhere, whether she’s onboard or not. Took that during our trip to Yavin last year.”

Ben takes the wallet-sized picture to get a better angle. The glossy surface reflects the bright light within the cockpit, so he has to adjust it a bit to see it clearly.

—But once he _does_ , he’s nearly struck speechless.

“Last year? But she looks exactly the same as she did when—when I left.”

His uncle shoots him a wolfish grin. “You’re telling me, ace. Miss Maz Kanata defies the test of time and all laws of beauty. I’m reminded of what a lucky son of a bitch every time I come home to her.”

Ben snorts at his uncle’s crassness, but he finds himself in quiet agreement. His Aunt Maz is just as beautiful as he remembers: her skin is still a smooth, glowing ebony, her midnight eyes shine with equal parts kindness and mirth, and her dark hair remains cropped close to her head. Wrapped in Chewie’s embrace, she looks tiny—though the same could be said for most people—and her smile is _blinding._ They appear to be standing on a beach at sunset, both a bit burnished from a day in the sun but obviously very happy and very much in love.

Why that realization suddenly makes Ben’s heart hurt is anyone’s guess.

A quick shake of the head brings him back to reality, and it’s then a thought occurs to him. “Wait—I mean—didn’t she—?”

“Hate my guts?” his uncle supplies. He snorts at Ben’s burning cheeks. “Damn right she did, and for good reason. You remember how I used to be, don’t you? How I had a woman at every stop?” Ben doesn’t respond out of some unspoken sense of respect, but his uncle seems to know that he understands. “You were pretty young back then, but I think you realize it, looking back. Leia used to cuss me something fierce for the way I treated Maz—almost as harsh as Maz herself—but I was a dumbass and let my dick do the thinking.” He pauses to adjust a few controls and draws a deep breath. “I mean it, ace, I don’t deserve her at all.”

Ben’s next thought leaves his mouth before he can stop it. “How did you ever win her back?”

His uncle laughs loud enough that Ben can hear him both outside of his headset as well as within, especially when he then tries to back track. “No, no, ace, it’s worth telling.” Chewie pauses to clear his throat and wipe his eyes. “Maz ain’t an easy sell, as you know. Flowers and candy and diamonds and _what have you_ weren’t gonna do shit to fill the rift I’d dug between us. I knew that, and she knew that, and that’s when I decided to just… be honest with her.”

Ben can’t stop his eyebrows from flying into his hair, and Chewie mimicks his shocked expression with the addition of a sheepish grin. “I told her everything—that I could remember anyway. And I vowed I’d never lie to her again, not that I very well could to begin with, and I’ve stayed true to my word. Does it sometimes earn me a night on the couch? Absolutely. But she always welcomes me back when she decides she’s ready.” Suddenly, his grin turns sly, and Ben’s positive his next words will contain more information than he wants to know. “Being good in bed certainly helps, too.”

“Jesus, Uncle Chewie…” Ben mutters under his breath, and yet he can’t help but indulge a quiet laugh of his own. The man’s as shameless as he remembers, that’s for sure, but as Ben reflects on all that his wizened uncle’s just told him, he realizes there might actually be some valuable advice woven throughout.

_I told her everything… I vowed I’d never lie to her again… I’ve stayed true to my word._

Ben stares unseeing at the various gauges and screens before him, for in his mind’s eye, he no longer imagines Aunt Maz welcoming Uncle Chewie back with open arms.

No.

Now he sees only _Reysist_ —kiss_kenobi—as she offers him that same absolution, that same bright, beautiful smile as she’d displayed in her profile picture, and wraps him up in her strong, forgiving embrace. Maybe, just maybe, she’d even let him hug her back, let him sweep her off her feet, let him taste her gorgeous smile on his lips—

_“Legacy five-zero-zero, turn left heading two-seven-zero to intercept the localizer, cleared ILS runway two-four into Takodana, maintain two-thousand-five-hundred feet until established.”_

With Ben suddenly struggling to catch his breath and steady his pounding heart, Chewie’s forced to return their approach sequence to Air Traffic Control.

“Turn left heading two-seven-zero, cleared ILS runway two-four into Takodana, maintain two-thousand-five-hundred feet until established. Legacy five-zero-zero.” Then, to his nephew: “You okay, ace?”

Not for the first time in his miserable life, Ben shoves the truth aside and forces himself to hide behind a mask of calm—even though he’s certain his blood pressure is through the damn stratosphere.

“I’m fine, Uncle Chewie,” he lies quietly. “I’m fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, let me have it!! i’m so sorry for the lack of smut, but i SWEAR i’ll be making it up to y’all just as soon as i can get these idiots to cooperate 😭😭 if you need a morsel in the meantime, check out one (or more) of my other completed fics 😋
> 
> [My Darling Postman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29449569) \- A smutty Breylo oneshot in which Awkward!Ben asks his twin, Asshole!Kylo, for advice on how best to woo Rey. Whether it’s decent advice or not is up for debate... 💌
> 
> [Once Upon a Blue Moon Rising](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27291976/chapters/66681271) \- An A/B/O-esque Halloween two-shot in which Rey is forced to face her destiny: deciding the fate of a strange werewolf named Ben. 🐺
> 
> [Focoso, or fiery passion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272082) \- A cracky oneshot in which Bartender!Rey’s fantasies about Pianist!Kylo come true 🎼
> 
> your kudos & comments give me LIFE 💙
> 
> come say hi on twitter & tumblr @aquill2thrill 😁


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